#posts that will appeal to maybe three people

[deafknell]

The longer I work the less I relate to Subaru and the more I relate to Otto.

[fayewoodss]

I like irl George streams.

[mako-island-moon-pool]

Personally of the belief that live action fans who go onto animanga posts uninvited like 'I DESPERATELY NEED YOU TO KNOW THAT I THINK THE ART STYLE IS UGLY EVEN THO THIS OPINION IS IRRELEVANT TO THE POST' should be hit with a big rock. We already moved past this ten years ago, get with it or get lost. Swallow the hunger inside of you that demands everything be palatable to you. Maybe you could stand to be a little uncomfortable for a while

[momokatzetzgo]

Thinking abt this one fanfic that was about Mina Hakuba that was so good and had such interesting characterization and was through her perspective and the writing went crazy but then it was a somakado fic OMGGG bro 😭😭

[eldritchamy]

I think I've figured out a good way to articulate one of the reasons Human Domestication Guide is hitting for me in a way really not much else has done for a long time.

HDG is an inverse fandom.

Whereas a lot of fanfiction (maybe just for the sake of the pun we can expand outwards, wink, and call them "transformative works") takes at the core of its nature a specific character or group of characters, and then transplants (sorry, I had to) those characters into Alternate Universes in order to keep telling altered, revised, and original stories with those CHARACTERS, while changing everything else, HDG does the opposite.

It takes the SETTING as the core defining feature, and creates original CHARACTERS in order to tell original stories.

And that's really cool for reasons that, of course, ended up becoming another gigantic one of Amy's Patented Infodump Posts.

Most fanfiction gets to appeal to its audience because of the associations and attachments readers have for the CHARACTERS, and then create a new story from there without having to spend time setting up WHO THE STORY IS ABOUT for you. I don't say this as a bad thing, that's just the attraction. The readers bring their attachment to the characters WITH them before they start reading.

HDG gets to assume you understand the SETTING as a basic premise, and then tell new stories with original characters without having to hold your hand through as much of the set up work, because you already know the SETTING going in.

So instead of discovering how the characters you know relate to a world you don't (and to each other within that context), you get stories where you get to discover who the characters ARE, in the context of a world you already understand.

It's not "what does a different setting do to these characters." It's "how do different people navigate this setting."

You get to meet and learn and identify with the CHARACTERS because you see how they as unique people react to a set premise.

So much of what I've read so far has done exceptional work establishing who the characters are, even making MINOR characters within the story feel like fleshed out people.

You'd think in a setting that takes at face value the premise of humanity being subjugated and doted on by a species that uses mind control drugs to turn them into docile, obedient pets, the stories would struggle a bit with sameness as the individuality of the characters failed to shine through or were inevitably suppressed over the course of the plot.

In practice, it seems like almost the OPPOSITE is true.

The Affini always win. But every character chooses to lose to them in a different way that speaks to who they are as people.

Getting to explore these unique stories through the eyes of unique characters seems like it's making it EASIER to latch on to what makes THESE characters the focus of the stories being told.

And so far the stories being told are fucking great, and have such a huge range to them.

The original story for the setting is a VERY non consensual medfet/drug play subjugation story where Elvira (captain of a ship for the Free Terran feralist rebellion) is ABSOLUTELY brought into domestication by force (at first), and we get to see the PROCESS of her being broken down and becoming something new over the course of (what we later learn has been ONLY) about three weeks. She's not the same person she was at the start of the story. At all. She's been utterly replaced by a new identity and personality that the old version of her would never have accepted. (Also it's kinda hot that it's actually good for her, and that she very much DOES end up happier for it. She's still Elvira. But she's safe, and she's loved.)

That's a pretty specific vibe for a story.

But the next story I read in the setting takes place over the course of several hours in-universe, and basically follows a dysfunctional, clearly neurodivergent woman stagnating in the limbo of having been failed by capitalism (or in her mind, failing at it) and having mixed feelings about the staggeringly powerful alien civilization that is currently part way through conquering her planet and its people.

The story starts off when she's so hungry after scraping through what scant, nutritionless garbage she was able to find in the capitalist dystopia that it finally overrides her fear, and she goes to the border of Affini-controlled territory in her city. She figures, they're going to do whatever they're going to do to the rest of the city within a few days anyway, so there's no sense pretending whatever outcome she's walking into wasn't inevitable, and even if it's not as good as the Affini promise, at least it's not what she's been stuck in. Fear of sameness finally becomes more traumatic than fear of change.

She proceeds to go on an adorable lesbian grocery date with a 10 foot tall plant that gently flirts with her while remaining very firm that all of this human's needs CAN and SHOULD and WILL be taken care of FOR her from now on, and it's OKAY that she has trouble focusing because it's OKAY that some people need more help than others.

She spends several chapters experiencing repeated Lesbian Bluescreens because of this sweet, doting alien who insists it's no trouble at all and she's happy to help. Then said alien takes her back to her apartment on the human side to make sure she feels safe getting there through the anti-Affini protests, and then in a matter of minutes she has cleaned this girl's entire disaster of an apartment and promised to cook her a nice Terran pizza.

Then the girl has a lesbian panic attack while coming to terms with how much misery she didn't have to be living with, and whether this future isn't exactly what she always hoped for and more, so the alien offers to give her some alien drugs to calm her down, and her now fuzzy brain accidentally crumbles under the weight of all the secret petplay fantasies that have been turning her face red all morning and she accidentally calls the alien "Mistress", and then she goes home to THEIR place back in Affini territory with her new owner and gets absolutely spoiled until she falls asleep feeling safe and loved for the first time in her life.

COMPLETE tonal shift from the original story, but the LOGIC of the story is fully consistent with the setting. It's just a different character responding to that setting in a different way.

The range of what's possible is ENORMOUS.

I went from there to "two humans captured at different times struggle to find their way back to each other and end up with neural implants plugged into each other's brains by their shared Mistress, and the feedback loop helps them domesticate EACH OTHER" and then from there to a mostly historical context story about an Affini who lived for almost 300,000 years and how she feels about the Compact's role in everything they've done to the universe.

And then I got to read "I have to pretend to be a good little floret maid at an Affini Compact hotel because that's my Genius Spy Cover WHOOPS it turns out being a maid means getting teased and played with a lot WHOOPS, OHHhhh NOOOoo~ I'VE BEEN TURNED INTO A FREE USE HYPNO DOLL because EVERYONE KNEW I WAS A SPY THE WHOLE TIME, I'm going to resolve my mixed feelings by erotically betraying my co-conspirator so we can be floret girlfriends together," which was cute, funny, and INCREDIBLY hot.

Seriously, chapter 10 of that story. Holy FUCK. I think my brain has turned fully inside out. I had a DREAM kinda like it afterwards that I wish I could remember more of.

I guess my point is HDG is less like a fandom and more like DND.

It's a shared universe of collaborative storytelling, even if any individual work within it was made by one person.

You get to play within a core set of rules for how the setting works, but the stories that can come out of playing by those rules are so incredible and diverse and interesting, and I'm really enjoying getting to explore all of that within the context of a basic premise that has absolutely grabbed most of my kinks by the throat, stared menacingly into my eyes, and smirked knowingly.

Also it's INCREDIBLY queer and very obviously made specifically for gay autistic trans women who take progesterone, so I guess just like the rest of the little Terrans, I never stood a chance.

[maxwell-grant]

So is Worm good from what you have read

"Yes" doesn't begin to cover it but yes. Worm is a brain-rewiring mobius strip disguised as a bible disguised as a superhero web serial that either cured your cancer or shot your dog or both depending on who you ask, and it has many extremely dedicated, brilliant scholar priest surgeons publicly dissecting it on this platform on the regular to the point I don't think I have much to add to the conversations surrounding it, even if I do have some The Thoughts about it. I had never even really seriously thought about superhero prose before and Worm isn't a thing I go back and reread frequently but it did a complete and total 180 on the way I think about superheroes and even fiction, and I've never stopped thinking about it since I've read it.

It is a monumentally impressive story with completely absolutely incredible characters that I cannot stop thinking about. No matter where it was going, even past stretches that were less interesting or more of a slog to read or worse, I could not put the story of Taylor Hebert down for one minute. Tattletale fascinated me every step of the way, I had to keep up with her. Rachel Lindt was a character I feel like I'd been waiting my whole life for. What was I gonna do, not see them through? I feel like Worm easily loses you if you don't particularly connect with the characters enough to justify to yourself the amount of time you'll spend with them, but man, I could not unglue my eyeballs from these people enough (I love all the core Undersiders, to be clear, I'd say it's Rachel > Taylor > Tattletale > Aisha and Alec and Brian, there are very small gaps between these, I just don't go berserk for the last three like I do for the first three, I'm taking Bitch and Skitter to the grave I'm dead serious)

Everybody who read it has one or several gripes with it with some major dealbreakers in the mix. Tumblr's kinda the only place online where you can really talk about them at length without the spectre of John Wildbow hanging over the discussion, which enables discussion to the point where yes, maybe it does look like to outsiders that nobody can agree on whether Worm is good or what is it even about or whether it even has worms in it (it has at least one, although it's a very big one).

And it is good, it has the Undersiders in it and the Undersiders are one of the greatest groups of characters ever put together, but everyone has at least one major point of contention with Worm whether it's the timeskip or the length or the racism or the gross fatphobia or aspects surrounding the Dallon-Pelham Torment Nexus and etc. I'd say it has maybe the most racist vision of Latin America I've ever seen in a superhero text a hair short of pro-colonial tracts in Golden Age comics and that is a tall fucking order by any metric. It is Complicated, and that winds up making it so fascinating to talk about.

Worm has self-sustaining ecological systems of posts up here, far away from the Spacebattles and Reddit battlegrounds where it has different ones and that's not getting into Weaverdice or the sequel or Wildbow's larger body of work, which I haven't gotten to and probably will not any time soon because Worm was enough of a commitment as is. Do I recommend Worm to everyone? It is certainly not to everyone's tastes and I personally find it difficult to describe it simply enough to make it sound appealing or not like a pyramid scheme. But yes I do think it's good, in fact great, in fact, amazing, except when it isn't, and except it Plainly Sucks, but then something like Taylor vs Mannequin or Kevin Norton's interlude or "You needed worthy opponents" happens and it fucks harder than anything has ever fucked before and you don't walk away from it the same, so yes I guess "good" will have to do now.

It's certainly a lot but I definitely found it worth my time to read and then read the texts written about it here. You'll have to take my endorsement of Worm as proof of it's quality and proof of how deranged it makes it's readerbase, they're not mutually exclusive. If you can make it, Worm and the wormosphere has layers and layers to wade through and talk about and enjoy, despite how we're all so very small in the end *gunshot*.

[atinylittlepain]

Unexpected Expectings - A Joel Miller Story

Joel Miller x pregnant!f!reader/pregnant!f!oc

Joel Miller Masterlist

It's a horrible idea, even living somewhere as safe as Jackson. But it's all she wants. Will Joel be able to accept her decision? Or will she have to do this alone?

warnings | 18+ heavy angst, descriptions of pregnancy symptoms, SMUT, decisions around pregnancy, Joel is an asshole :/

.....................

She knows it’s foolish. Stupid really, and maybe even a death wish. It isn’t certain, but it might as well be. Her period has been missing for three months now, and since she’s been living in Jackson, there’s no other reason for its absence other than one glaring option. That coupled with the rolling nausea that has been rocking her these past few weeks makes her as close to certain as she can be. She’s living in a post-apocalyptic world, and she’s pregnant.

She and Joel had been so careful, or at least she thought so. She had even figured out how to track her periods, maneuvering around them to create the least possible chance of something like this happening. Yet, it was becoming painfully clear that they hadn’t been careful enough. The first month, she thought it was just a fluke. The second month, she started to panic when the so-called morning sickness started showing up at all times of the day. Her first instinct had been to hide it from Joel. She knew his past, the loss of his daughter Sarah that had left him shattered, and she knew that a pregnancy would be the last thing they needed. While things were a little different in Jackson – even Maria had just had a perfect baby boy with Tommy – she and Joel had lived harder than most of these people. After their time on the road transporting Ellie, they couldn’t help the skittish streak in them, waiting for the other shoe to drop, another catastrophe, and they were always keeping an eye on the horizon, ready to leave when things went sideways. And they certainly couldn’t do that with a baby in tow. 

She should have taken care of it right away, gone to Maria who’d know women in the community that could help. The mountains were rich with herbs and plant medicine, and there’d surely be a way to take care of the situation with the right knowledge. But, something was keeping her from doing it, from ending it, and she couldn’t figure out what the hell it was. Maybe it was some sort of hormonal cocktail already bonding her to this question mark of a child, but all she knew was that she kept stealing wisps of moments alone in which she’d lift up her shirt and settle her palm over her stomach. 

It hadn’t been too hard to hide it at first, she and Joel were passing ships during the day, each busy with patrol shifts. When the nausea hit, she’d found ways to subtly excuse herself and find somewhere to quietly wretch until the feeling passed. It was exhausting, but the alternative option of Joel finding out and possibly having an aneurysm seemed a lot less appealing. But as time kept passing, the reality that she’d have to handle the situation or tell him the truth became more pressing. It happened one morning as they were showering together. Joel had been grazing his rough hands along her body, palms splaying along her sides as she pressed her back into his chest, head tilted to rest on his shoulder. He had hummed in her ear, fingers skimming over her stomach to graze the underside of her breasts.

“Civilization looks good on you, honey. Finally got you eating proper and you fill out so nice.” He had emphasized his words with a harsh squeeze to the swell of her breasts, but she had stilled in his hold, her eyes blowing wide in fear. She had quickly recovered, turning in his hold and distracting him with a sloppy blowjob, but once they got out of the shower and started getting dressed, she had hung back, waiting until he was already heading downstairs to finally look in the mirror. It was subtle, but her stomach was obviously swollen, the hint of an arc, and her breasts were also feeling different, heavier in her hands.

That was a month ago now, and each day since she had told herself it will be the day she confronts Joel with the truth, and each day, she keeps on hiding it from him. But it was certainly getting harder. She hadn’t really let him touch her since that morning, opting for chaste pecks and quick slips out of his grabby hands and she could tell Joel was getting more and more frustrated at the distance. He did however let her off the hook for her uncharacteristic distance when he found her hunched over the toilet and heaving out the contents of her stomach. Morning sickness had been continuing to mount, and it had become all but impossible to hide it. When he asked her what was wrong with a panicked worry washed over his face, she chalked it up to food poisoning, an answer he reluctantly accepted before getting her a glass of water and helping her lay down. But food poisoning doesn’t last for weeks. 

When she wakes up the next morning, Joel already gone on an early shift, she knows that by tonight, he needs to know the truth.

The first thing she does that morning is head to Maria’s house. Her mind is a fog of thoughts as she knocks on her door, but she’s quickly shocked back into reality when Maria opens the door with her little boy on her hip. The sight of the mother with her child takes her breath away, and she unconsciously brings her own hand to ghost over her stomach before quickly jerking her arm down to her side and digging her nails into her palm. Maria offers her a smile, but confusion settles in a crease between her brows.

“Hey, Joel said you weren’t feeling too well yesterday. Are you doing alright?” She sighs, trying to find the right words but failing as she wrings her hands on Maria’s doorstep.

“Um, hey, I-I’m fine, but– can I talk to you about something?” Maria’s eyebrows raise slightly, but she nods, shifting to let her come in before closing the door behind them. They sit down on the sofa in her living room, and her eyes immediately catch on the small memorial to Sarah and Maria’s own son that rests above their fireplace. She feels her throat tighten at the sight, but quickly shifts her focus back to Maria, who’s gently cooing at her brightening boy. She can’t help but smile at the sight, but Maria glances up at her, reminding her that she isn’t here for small talk. She clears her throat, taking a sharp inhale before speaking.

“There’s no good way to say this so I’ll just get it out. I’m pregnant.” Maria’s jaw falls slightly, her eyes wide, the only sound breaking the suffocating silence are the light coos of her baby. She takes another deep breath before continuing.

“It’s Joel’s, obviously. A-and I’m pretty sure it’s been three months?” Maria finally nods.

“Ok. What do you wanna do?” It’s such a simple question, but it’s the first time she’s talked about this with anyone, and she can already feel tears pricking her eyes as she stammers out a response.

“I– I wanna say that I don’t know– but– I– I do. I wanna keep it– so bad. I-is that crazy?” Maria’s wide smile is a huge relief, and the laugh she lets out washes away any uncertainty she had.

“No. It’s not crazy. Not at all. If anyone is tough enough to do it, it’s you.” Just then, Maria’s boy lets out a shrill giggle that startles them both, making them laugh and share a warm smile. She can see a streak of worry cross over Maria’s features, though, and the woman sighs.

“I have to ask. Does Joel know yet?” Her smile quickly fades, a deep frown settling as she looks down at her hands, shaking her head.

“I’ve been battling in my head about it until just now. Wasn’t even sure he was gonna need to know anything. But I guess now he’s gonna have to find out.” Maria purses her lips, seeming to think on it for a moment.

“Well, I’ve known Joel long enough to understand that this might not be easy. But you don’t have to do it alone. I know– we’re all supposed to have dinner together on Friday– Tommy and I and you and Joel and Ellie. What if you told him then? Amongst family.” She feels tears threatening to spill again at Maria’s idea, and the woman is quick to take one of her hands and offer a reassuring squeeze.

“You are family, you understand?” She smiles, nodding jerkily as she swipes away her tears. 

“Thank you, Maria. Just– thank you. That means a lot to me.” They share another smile, but she can’t help the anxious thoughts burrowing into her head.

“It’s just– I’m worried I won’t be able to hide it until then.” Maria furrows her brow and she sighs under her gaze.

“I’m having terrible morning sickness. Honestly, whoever decided to call it that is an idiot because it’s all day. I just don’t think Joel is gonna keep buying the excuse of food poisoning until Friday.” Maria nods at her words.

“There’s a tea I can show you how to make. I drank gallons of it when I was pregnant with this little devil. Why don’t I come back to your house and I can show you how to make it?” It’s less a question and more a direction as Maria’s already standing with her boy still on her hip, walking into her kitchen to gather whatever she needs to bring over with her. 

…

When they get back to the house she shares with Joel and Ellie, it’s quiet, no one home yet. Keeping her baby slung to her chest, Maria sets to work, showing her the herbs she’s combining to steep in a pot on the stove.

“Honestly, I’d just keep a pot brewing with this all day. The stronger the better in this case.” She nods at her words.

“Thank you for helping me with this. It’s just been so exhausting, it feels like it’s only getting worse.” Maria smiles knowingly, lightly stirring the pot of brewing tea.

“Well, they say strong morning sickness means strong baby. I’ve also heard that having a lot of morning sickness is a sign it’s a girl.” 

“Who’s having morning sickness?” The women both jump, startled by Ellie’s sudden presence in the kitchen. She quickly stammers out an answer, trying to cover their trail.

“H-hey, Ellie bean. No one has morning sickness. We were just talking about Maria’s pregnancy, that’s all.” By the squinting look the girl gives them, she can tell Ellie’s not quite buying her answer.

“Uh, ok, but Maria had a boy.” She glances at Maria, who looks just as confused as she feels.

“What’s that?”

“Maria had a boy. And she said that having lots of morning sickness means it’s a girl, so I don’t see how you could’ve been talking about her pregnancy– is something else going on?” Before she can come up with a reply to Ellie’s skeptical question, a punch of nausea washes over her and it’s all she can do to hinge over the edge of the sink before she’s emptying what little was in her stomach into the porcelain basin. When she rights herself, swiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Ellie’s eyes are wide and her mouth is hung open.

“No way–”

“Ellie–”

“Are you for real right now? You’re pregnant?” She shushes the girl’s exclamation, holding her by her shoulders and looking her square in the eyes.

“I-I am, but, Ellie, you can’t tell anyone–”

“Wait – it’s Joel’s, right? That was a dumb question, of course it is– wait, does he know yet?” She sighs, offering the girl a small shake of her head and Ellie’s face falls.

“A-are you not keeping it or–?”

“No! I am, I am. I decided I am.” She glances behind her to Maria who gives her a small smile of support. Maria steps forward and both women place a hand on Ellie’s shoulders.

“Ellie, she’s gonna wait to tell Joel until this Friday. When we’re all together as a family. But until then, you can’t say a word to anyone.” Ellie’s eyes widen again and she lets out a huffed laugh.

“Oh shit. Joel is gonna freak the fuck out. You do realize that, right?” She sighs, letting her hand drop from the girl’s shoulder.

“I do. Which is why I’m waiting to tell him, ok? Joel can’t know anything until then.”

“What can’t I know?” All three of them let out startled yelps, turning to see Joel coming in through the back door. Shit. When none of them answer his question, he huffs, putting his hands on his hips.

“Hey, what can’t I know?” Ellie’s eyes dart nervously between her and Maria, but both women are still too stunned to figure out how to respond. Unfortunately, Joel’s eyes wander to the kitchen counter, where Maria had left the book she brought over. She had offered to lend it to her, an old tattered copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting. If the title didn’t make it obvious, the picture of the very pregnant woman on the cover certainly did. 

It’s as if she watches it in slow motion as he shuffles over to the counter, picking up the book and inspecting it. He holds it aloft, peering back at the trio who have all still failed to pick their jaws up off the floor.

“What’s this doing here?” His gaze shifts from Maria, to Ellie, finally to her. She can barely meet his eyes with her own, still swimming in her mind for how to answer him. Ellie’s the first to break the silence, stepping in between her and Joel.

“Listen, old man. You don’t get to be mad at her, alright? It’s bad for the baby.” Joel’s face immediately slackens, the book falling from his hand with a heavy thud as it meets the floor. She grits her teeth. Jesus christ, kid, so much for not saying anything. Maria speaks then.

“Ellie–” The girl whips around, a panicked look on her face.

“Oh fuck. I’m sorry–” They’re startled again when Joel brings a heavy hand down on the counter, the sound reverberating through the kitchen.

“Somebody better tell me what the fuck is going on, right now.” She squeezes Ellie’s shoulder.

“It’s ok, Ellie. Why don’t you go with Maria? Joel and I need to talk.” He huffs at her words but she keeps her attention on Ellie and Maria, both of them giving her a weary, questioning look. She just nods, ushering them out of the kitchen.

“Go. I think we need to have this conversation just me and him.” The pair finally acquiesce, Ellie muttering another sorry before she turns back to shout over her shoulder at Joel.

“You better be nice, old man. If you hurt my future sister you’ll have to answer to me.” She winces at the girl’s words. It definitely didn’t help the incredulous look that had wiped over Joel’s face. She finally turns back to face him fully, wringing her hands. He huffs again, shifting in his work boots as he peers at her.

“You better start explaining yourself. Is it– are you–” She lifts her chin, trying to be confident under his scrutinizing look.

“I am, Joel. I’m pregnant.” His features slacken again and he rakes both his hands through his hair, letting out a low curse.

“Is it– is it mine?” She chokes on a breath at his ridiculous question before letting out a humorless laugh.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that? Of course it’s fucking yours! What kind of question is that?” He sighs, scrunching his eyes shut and shaking his head.

“I’m sorry– I just– it just came out– fuck. I know that– I know it’s mine.” He scrubs a hand down his face, glancing at the pot on the stove.

“Is that what this is for? Maria told you how to take care of it?” It’s her turn to scrunch her face at him.

“What? No. Joel I– I’m going to–” He holds up his hand, cutting her off.

“No.”

“Joel.”

“No. Don’t say what I think you’re about to– don’t tell me you wanna keep it.” Something in her crumples at his words, so she does what she does best when she’s under attack. She gets pissed. She gets up in his space, her sudden heated change in demeanor seeming to catch him off guard as she jabs her finger into his chest, making him stumble back until he’s leaning against the counter.

“I’m not telling you I wanna keep it. I’m telling you I am keeping it.” He scoffs at her words, hulking over her even as she tries to stand her ground.

“Well then you’re not as smart as I thought you were. Are you really stupid enough to think this is a good idea? This–this mistake? That’s ridiculous. And don’t expect me to play house with you either because I want no part of this.” She’ll deal with the pain his words are sending shivering through her bones later, but for now, she sneers at him and gets big with anger.

“Fine. I’ll do it by myself if I have to. But you’re not gonna take this from me, Joel Miller, even if it means losing you.” She sees something flash behind the ire in his eyes and she thinks it’s the same hurt she currently feels squeezing her heart. But it’s gone in an instant, Joel huffs before shouldering past her and storming through the house and out the front door. It’s all she can do to hold herself up on the counter as the first sob racks her body. 

…

She has no idea where Joel stomped off to, and she doesn’t want to be around to find out when he gets home. With a backpack stuffed with whatever she thought she might need, she stumbles out across the street, back to Maria’s house. The bright sunlight of mid-afternoon stings her tear-worn eyes and she scrubs harshly at her face as she waits for someone to answer the door. She’s caught off guard when it’s Tommy who opens up to her knocking.

“Oh– Tommy, I– um– I–” Before she can stutter anything out, the man is gathering her up in a hug that makes her let out a small “oof.” He pulls back, guiding her into the house and quietly closing the door.

“Maria told me. I’d like to say congrats, but I also think I’m gonna have to apologize for whatever dumb shit Joel pulled when you told him.” His words make her let out a breathy laugh, but then she falls apart all over again. Tommy rubs her arms as more sobs break, guiding her over to sit on their couch. She digs the heels of her palms into her eyes, shaking her head.

“I’m sorry– I-I can’t stop f-f-fucking crying today.” Tommy offers her a sad smile, sitting down next to her and squeezing her hand.

“I’d say that’s a fitting reaction. If you wanna cry, then you just cry, alright? Now what the hell did Joel say when you told him?” She sighs, a long shudder running through her as she finally glances up at Tommy.

“He said it was stupid– that I want to keep it. Called it a mistake.” Tommy huffs, a deep furrow of frustration settling across his face. 

“Well, my suspicions are confirmed. Joel’s acting a fucking fool. Did he storm off?” She nods and Tommy lets out a dry chuckle.

“He’s predictable, the old shit. You already know this, but he’s a reactive asshole. I can guarantee he’s already starting to feel bad for all that garbage he said.” She nods, a wave of exhaustion passing over her that has her leaning back into the couch and tilting her head up to look at the mottled ceiling.

“I know that. But– I don’t– this is different from anything else.” Tommy looks at her questioningly and she sighs.

“I just– I think this might be it, Tommy. I think it might be too much for him.” Her eyes are fixed on Sarah’s name scrawled on the chalkboard atop their mantel. He rests a hand on her knee, giving a reassuring squeeze.

“Well, then Joel is an even bigger idiot than I thought. Look, I have a pretty good idea of where he sulked off to. Why don’t I go talk to him?” She shakes her head, eyes hazy in resignation.

“No, I think it’ll only upset him more. Whatever conclusion he gets to, he needs to come to it on his own.” Tommy sighs, but nods at her words.

“And you? What’s your conclusion?” She brings both her hands to rest over the slight swell of her belly.

“I’m prepared to do it alone if I have to. God– I don’t think I’ve wanted something this bad in a long time.” Tommy smiles at her words, giving her knee another squeeze.

“Right on, mama. And, Joel or no Joel, you aren’t gonna do this alone. Maria and I, we’re here for you. And Ellie too. Pretty sure that girl is gonna knock his lights out if I don’t beat her to it.” She can’t help the warbly laugh she lets out at that and it feels like the biggest relief after such a shit day.

“Thank you, Tommy.” The man nods.

“No need for thank you, not when it comes to family.”

…

Tommy shows her up to their spare bedroom and she conks out nearly as soon as she lays down, the day she’s had finally catching up to her. When she wakes up, the room is a wash in the orange haze of evening. She can hear quiet laughter floating down the hall through the cracked door of the room and she follows the sound to find Maria and Ellie in the nursery, sprawled on the rug as they play with Maria’s boy. Ellie is on her feet in an instant, wrapping her up in a hug and whispering a meek “I’m sorry” into her collarbone. She rubs the girl’s back, pulling away to offer her a small smile.

“It’s alright, Ellie bean. It’s gonna be alright.” Ellie nods, her eyes glancing down to her stomach and she can’t help but laugh at the girl’s suddenly very nervous demeanor. Ellie’s eyes whip back up to hers. 

“Can I– um– could I–” She cuts off her stammering, grabbing one of her hands and laying her palm over her stomach. Ellie’s eyes widen.

“There’s not much to feel yet, but–”

“Woah, s’already, like, round. That’s so fucking weird, man.” She snorts at Ellie’s words.

“Gee thanks, kid. That makes me feel a lot better.” Ellie huffs, letting her hand fall away before looking back up at her.

“Is it really gonna be a girl?” She glances at Maria who’s now standing with her boy on her hip. 

“Well, I guess we won’t really know until they’re here. Whoever they are. But I have to admit I’d kinda like a girl seeing as I already have some experience in the area.” She nudges Ellie’s shoulder and the girl laughs at that, eyes crinkling up. Maria sidles up to the pair, leaning and whispering in a fake conspiratory way to Ellie.

“Did you see the way she threw up? Definitely a girl.” They share another laugh, and it’s almost enough to quell the twinge of pain she’s still feeling, Joel’s name pulsing in her mind like a second heartbeat. But she’s quickly taken out of the fog as Maria ushers her and Ellie downstairs to help with dinner.

…

Dinner is lovely, save for the glaringly empty chair at one end of the table. She can tell that they’re trying to keep her mind off it, off him, asking her all kinds of questions about the baby that is now most certainly not a question mark, but a firm exclamation point of a yes. Ellie asks her if she has thought about names and while she honestly hasn’t, she’s surprised by how quickly she has an answer.

“My sister’s name was Olivia, but everyone called her Libby. I think that might be nice since everyone’s so sure it’s gonna be a girl.” It’s sad, but it’s also sweet, and a gentle silence falls over the table as they all take in her response. But they’re startled out of the moment when a quick set of knocks on the front door rings through the house. She knows it’s him, she just does, and her eyes dart anxiously to Tommy’s. Tommy clears his throat, softly muttering “excuse me” as he stands and walks out of the room towards the front door. They’re all holding their breath as he opens it, but something in her snaps when she hears Joel’s voice.

“Is she here?” She can hear the shuffle of Tommy’s boots, most likely as he stands in the doorway to block Joel’s entrance.

“Hello to you too, brother. What exactly can I help you with?” 

“Tommy, please. I-I need to talk to her.” 

“Are you just gonna spew more bullshit at her? Because if that’s the case then I can’t let you see her, Joel.” She can hear the frustrated huff that Joel lets out, can even picture the scrunched look he probably has on his face right now.

“Look, I went home and she wasn’t there. Is she here or not?” She glances at Ellie, a worried look pinching the girl’s features, and she does her best to offer her a reassuring smile, but it’s hard to be convincing when her own stomach is twisting in knots. 

“Brother, you oughta be ashamed of yourself for what you said to her. How could you? After everything you two have been through together? It’s fucking ridiculous.”

“You couldn’t understand, Tommy. What it meant for me to lose–” Tommy cuts off Joel’s words, an anger in his voice that’s new and raw.

“Don’t you dare say I can’t understand. I lost her too, Joel. But at least I’m not a fucking coward like you. Sarah would be disgraced by the way you treated her today.” There’s a shuffling of boots, and then Joel’s harsh words.

“Watch it.” She’s heard enough, getting up and hurrying out to the front door. She finds the men nose to nose, sneers stretched across their faces. When Joel catches her out of the corner of his eye, he immediately slackens, shrinking back from Tommy. She’s amazed by how small he seems as he looks at her, his eyes heavy and glistening. She tentatively steps forward, angling herself between the two men. She does her best to seem confident, tilting her chin up at him

“What is it, Joel?” He clears his throat, opening his mouth but then seeming to think again and pursing his lips in a thin line before he finally speaks.

“Um– I– can we talk?” His eyes keep darting down to her stomach, the small swell now slightly defined under the fitted t-shirt she’s wearing. She had been hiding in his large flannels over the last few weeks, but she figured there was no longer reason to now. Tommy goes to speak, but she glances back at him, a silent confirmation that she has this under control. He nods, sending one more glare toward his brother before shaking his head and slipping back towards the dining room. She turns back to Joel.

“I’ll listen to what you have to say. But I can’t promise you anything in return.” He nods, wiping his palms down the front of his jeans. He goes to speak, but his eyes glance behind her, and she turns to catch Maria, Ellie, and Tommy leaning out from the end of the hall and peering at them. She huffs.

“Here, let’s go on the porch and you can say what you wanna say to just me.” She steps out, not missing the way he flinches as her stomach brushes past him. He sits down on the bench seat and she chooses to lean against the porch railing across from him. His brow furrows.

“You should sit. Need to stay off your feet now.” She’s stunned into laughter at his words, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Are you serious? Joel, what do you care? Last I checked, you wanted nothing to do with this.” She brings one hand down to rest over her stomach, fixing him with as hard a look as she can muster. He sighs, resting his elbows on his thighs as he leans forward and hangs his head between his shoulders. His voice is a murmur, but she can still hear what he says in the quiet of the quick-darkening evening.

“That’s not true.” She huffs.

“What’s not true?” He tilts his head up, finally meeting her gaze. She can see the tears threatening to fall in the corners of his eyes.

“That I don’t want anything to do with this. That’s not true.” She scoffs, scrunching her eyes shut in frustration before looking at him again.

“Well, I’m sorry if that’s a little hard to believe coming from you. After you told me you wanted no part in, what did you say? Playing house with me? You sure know how to keep a girl guessing, Miller, I’ll give you that.” He takes in a harsh breath, running a quick hand through his hair and shaking his head.

“I know what I said– I-I wasn’t talking sense– when I– when you– fuck– you scared the living shit out of me, you know that?” The pained grimace on his face makes her soften, leaning back into the railing, waiting for him to continue. He sighs.

“I just– we were careful, right? We were always careful. How could this happen?” She tenses up.

“You better not be saying this is my fault, Joel.” He blanches, shaking his head.

“N-no, no. It’s just– never in a million years did I think this would happen. I was shocked when you told me. And it’s no excuse for the way I spoke to you and I’m sorry, I really am. But I just don’t understand how you’re not fucking terrified right now because I am.” She lets out an incredulous laugh at his words before looking back at him.

“You think I’m not terrified right now? You think I wasn’t terrified when you walked out that door? You think I haven’t been terrified for the last three months trying to figure out why I want this baby so bad when I know it’s probably the dumbest idea I’ve ever had? I must be good at hiding it then, because I’m so fucking afraid it makes it hard to breathe sometimes.” A heavy silence falls between them. Joel clears his throat.

“Will you please sit down, honey?” She sighs, a weariness settling back into her bones, but she gives in, sitting down next to him on the bench. There’s a few inches of space between them, and Joel rests his open palm there. She takes the invitation, letting her hand tangle with his. Relief washes over her at the feeling of his thumb brushing along her knuckles. He lets out a ragged sigh.

“The thing is, I do want this. With you.” She turns to look at him and he offers her a sad smile.

“But I don’t know if I can do it. Tommy’s right. I’m a fucking coward, darlin. And I’m scared that I can’t be what you need.” She shakes her head, looking at him questioningly. He squeezes her hand.

“When I lost Sarah– it destroyed me– and I told myself that I’d be in pieces for the rest of my life. Hell, the only reason I didn’t lay down and die right then was Tommy. I needed to protect him, to keep going for him.” He pauses for a moment, taking another shivery breath before looking at her again.

“Then I met you, and that damn kid. And I tried so hard not to care, but fuck– you were it for me and I knew it from the start. And I kept going for you, and for Ellie.” He scrunches his eyes shut, shaking his head slightly.

“We have a good thing going here. But you and I know better than most that it can change in a flash. And if– it’d be the end of me– if I lost you, o-or this piece of you and me. Fuck– my mind’s been racing all day with images of you– with a baby– with our baby. And it takes my breath away how much it scares me– and how badly I want it.” He finally opens his eyes, tears dipping into the worn lines of his face. She reaches up to swipe a stray one away from the arc of his cheek and he leans into her palm. 

“Well, it sounds like we’re both scared, but we both want it. So, I guess it’s good we’re on the same page finally.” He huffs out a laugh at her words, a smile ghosting at the corners of his mouth. Truthfully, she’s not sure what to say. But she has a moment to figure it out as Joel wraps his arm around her, pulling her up against him and letting her settle into his side. 

“Joel, I know you feel like you have to protect us. But this isn’t one sided. We’ve made it this far because we’ve done it together. We’re a team. I told you I’d do this by myself if I have to, but fuck– I don’t think I can do it without you. But I know we can do it, scared shitless, together.” He brings his hand to cup her jaw, skating his fingers over her cheek, and he gives her a firm nod.

“We’ll do it, together.” She leans forward, pressing a hard kiss to his lips around her splitting smile and she can feel his own grin in the way he kisses her back. For a moment, all that matters is the way his hand holds her face, the way her palm presses into his chest, and the way they keep kissing like they’re trying to steal each other’s breath. And then they’re promptly jostled out of the moment by a muffled voice resounding from behind the window they’re sitting in front of.

“Ugh, gross!” They both jerk away from each other, glancing behind them to just catch a flash of Ellie’s face before she’s dipping out of sight. They look at each other for a beat, before dissolving into disbelieving laughter. Joel shakes his head, hugging her tighter to his side and laying a kiss in her hair.

“That damn kid.” She snorts, looking up at him.

“I mean, we’ve already got a little practice with a child of the apocalypse. What’s one more, huh?” He huffs, before dipping down to kiss the sly grin off her face. 

…

They return home together, after a rather tense reconciliation between Joel and Tommy that ended in Tommy telling his brother that he’d be “checking in to make sure you’re not being an idiot.” Maria had brought down her pack for her, telling her that she had tucked a few things in it that might be helpful, before shooting a weary glance at Joel that communicated plenty without her having to say anything. 

When they enter the house, Ellie turns on her heel, wagging her finger at Joel and making him stumble back in his tracks a bit.

“Listen here, old man. She may have forgiven you, but I got my eye on you. If you pull any more of your weird, grumpy bullshit, you’re gonna be answering to me, alright? We need to create a stress-free environment for her, and all your scowling nonsense ain’t gonna fly.” Joel grumbles, letting out an exasperated huff of her name, but she’s already putting a gentle hand on the girl’s shoulder, getting her to stand down.

“Don’t worry, Ellie. I’m pretty sure I can handle the old man.” 

“Hey–” Joel scoffs in protest but she shoots him a look over her shoulder that makes his mouth promptly shut. She turns back to Ellie.

“Maria said they’re playing a movie tonight in town. I bet Dina will be there helping out with the little kids. Why don’t you go–” Before she can even pose the question, Ellie’s already shrugging her jacket back on and heading out the door with a hollered “I’ll be back!” 

Watching the interaction, Joel looks exhausted, like he just ran a marathon. She grins, sidling up to him and rubbing her palms up his chest.

“How the hell do you do that? Does she come with a remote that I don’t know about or something?” She laughs, shrugging at him.

“Maybe I’m just a natural, Miller.” That earns her a crooked smile from him as he cups her jaw in both his palms, dipping down for a quick peck. She squeezes his shoulders before turning to head upstairs, he close on her heels. 

They move without needing to speak, falling easily back into their normal routine, letting water warm up for a shower as they peel off their clothes from the day. She suddenly feels nervous, being bare before him. She had been dodging their usual routine, bathing alone to keep him from noticing anything. It’s the first time in a month since he’s seen her like this, and things have certainly changed since then.

She tentatively steps into the bathroom, his bare back facing her. When he hears her he turns around, eyes instantly roaming across her body. He doesn’t let his eyes linger on her belly, instead focusing them back on her face, an unreadable expression across his features. She feels nerves settling cold in her throat. He looks like he wants to say something, but instead lets out a low hum before turning and getting into the shower. She follows, stepping in front of him with her back facing his chest. She jumps slightly when his hands come to her sides, ghosting up until they run along her shoulders and down her arms, his touch disappearing just as soon as it came. They take to the task of cleaning off silently. Joel is gentle as he washes the soap from her body, but she can’t help but notice how his hands maintain a noticeable distance from her stomach. The longer it goes on and the longer he won’t touch her there, she can feel herself wilting, finally shrugging off his hands and leaving him in the shower. He calls out her name as a question, but she’s already wrapping her towel around herself and stepping out of the bathroom. 

She knows it won’t be as simple as telling each other that it will be alright. She knows that Joel is having as much a hard time with this as she is. But she would give anything for him to touch her, to fully acknowledge what they have created together. She sighs, shaking her head of these thoughts as she rummages through her backpack for the clean clothes she had stashed in it. What she first finds, however, is a small bottle of what looks like oil with a note wrapped around it from Maria.

Stretch marks are a bitch. This helps. -M

She smiles at the note, unscrewing the cap and carefully smelling the contents. By the scent, she guesses it must be rosehip oil. She figures people must be collecting the wild blooms further up the mountain, processing them down to oil. She’ll have to thank Maria tomorrow.

If she was being honest, she hadn’t really looked at herself, not since last month. She had been trying so hard to hide the reality of her changing body that she had concealed it from even herself. Still holding the bottle of oil, she steps in front of the time-mottled mirror that hangs on the back of their closet door. She drops her towel, letting it pool around her feet and takes in the sight of what is now clearly a bump. She smooths her palm down the expanse of her stomach, taking in the curved path in the mirror before twisting to the side to see the obvious arc. She notices the silvery lines spidering across her hips there, lines that are new. Lines that mean growth. Lips parted in awe, she twists this way and that, fully taking in the foreign sight of her body.

The sound of Joel clearing his throat startles her out of her reverie and she turns her head to see him standing in the doorway to the bedroom with a towel slung around his hips. She’s frozen where she stands, pinned under his heady gaze that finally seems to be taking all of her in. His eyes catch on the bottle she’s still holding, looking back up at her with a question across his face. She smiles lightly, holding the bottle up.

“It’s from Maria. For stretch marks, I guess. Didn’t think I’d still be worrying about those after society collapsed.” It’s a lame attempt at a joke as Joel continues to study her. She still can’t figure out what he’s thinking, something she’s not used to. He clears his throat again, meeting her gaze.

“Do you want– could I– um– can I help?” Those three gruff words settle the aching worry in her chest. She smiles, nodding at him and he pads into the bedroom, his eyes not leaving hers as he settles on the edge of the bed. She shuffles over to stand between his legs and hands him the bottle. His eyes only break from hers when he looks down to unscrew the cap and pour some of the oil into his palm, rubbing his hands together to warm them up.

She can’t help the shiver that runs through her when his hands find purchase on her hips, rubbing small circles that start to get larger as he smooths over her sides. She rests her hands on his shoulders as he works, pausing only to pour more oil out into his palms. He hesitates before letting his hands lay on the actual swell of her stomach, but when he finally does she lets out a sigh that makes him smile. He’s impossibly gentle as he rubs the oil into her belly, lips parted in concentration. She tilts her head, dipping her cheek to her shoulder as she watches him. When he meets her gaze again she can see that his pupils are blown wide.

“Does this feel good, honey?” She hums, nodding lightly, drawing another smile from him as he finishes his ministrations. He rests his hands on her hips, pulling her closer to him as he drops his lips over her stomach in a sweet kiss, letting his mouth linger over her skin. The vibrations of the words he murmurs into her skin send another shudder through her bones.

“Beautiful. You’re fucking amazing.” She sighs out his name, carding her fingers through his hair to tip his head back to look up at her. She dips down to meet him in a kiss, his hands squeezing and encouraging her onto his lap as they dissolve into tangled tongues and swallowed sighs. Joel pulls away, letting his mouth trail down her neck, over the tops of her breasts and she arches into his lips. He sighs into her skin.

“Been missing you, darlin. But I guess now I know why you were slipping my hold all the time.” She grins, pressing a kiss to his forehead as he rests his chin in the valley between her breasts. 

“You had me worried for a second there. Thought you were trading me in for a newer model.” She scoffs, tugging lightly at his hair to crane his face back up towards hers so she can steal another kiss from him.

“Not a chance, old man. You’re stuck with me.” He groans at the name she calls him, squeezing at her ass where his hands have now wandered and making her yelp.

“Let’s just see if you’re still calling me old man when I’m done with you.” With that, they meet in another rolling kiss, and it’s an awkward shuffle as Joel shrugs out of his towel and they inch up the length of the bed until he’s finally laying back with her straddling his hips. His cock is hard, resting against his thigh and she can just feel the tip of him grazing her backside as he brings his hand to her hip, drawing his fingers through her folds and making her whine out his name. She cants into his palm as he dips his fingers into her entrance, collecting the slick that’s already pooling there and drawing it up to her clit to press firm circles into the nerves there. Her hands find purchase on his chest as he starts to work her over with his fingers.

“Look so perfect like this, honey. Like a fucking painting.” Her eyes screw shut at his words, a whimper of his name on her lips as he starts to pump two of his fingers into her, his palm grinding into her clit with each pass. It’s certainly different, being astride Joel with the bump now all but in the way, and she feels stunted in her movements against his hand, like she can’t quite draw the pleasure from her hips that she’s looking for. Joel seems to sense her frustration, his hand stilling for a moment to instead rub circles into her hip.

“What’s wrong? What do you need, darlin?” She huffs, digging her chin into her chest as she feels a flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck.

“I-I don’t know– fuck– it just feels– weird.” She gestures vaguely to her stomach and Joel’s eyes widen, fingers flexing into the plush of her hips.

“Did I hurt you?” She’s quick to shake her head, thumbing at the frown across Joel’s face.

“No– it just– it doesn’t feel like it normally does– I don’t know– I feel awkward.” Joel lets out a long exhale, bringing one of his hands to graze along her jaw.

“It probably isn’t going to feel like it normally does, darlin. But we can figure this out, alright? Wanna make you feel good.” His words send a shiver up her spine and she nods.

It takes a bit of trial and error, but they both settle with her on her side and Joel pressed up behind her, the warmth of his chest spreading against her back. He runs his palm down her side, stopping at the plush of her thigh and encouraging her leg to hitch back over his, spreading her open a bit more for him. From there, he slides his hand between her legs, again finding a rhythm as he dips into her, crooking his fingers in a way that has her gasping as she digs her nails into his forearm. Her hips stutter back into him as he continues to fuck her with his fingers and she can feel his throbbing length pressing against the swell of her ass.

“That’s it, honey. Just relax. Let it feel good.” She whimpers his name, already feeling the pleasure settling heavy at the hilt of her spine, ready to pour over at any moment. She’s definitely more sensitive than usual, her hips jerking every time his palm presses hard against her clit. She cranes her neck back into his shoulder and he lays a kiss to her temple.

“Will you come for me, darlin? Please? Let me see you, huh?” She gives him a jerky nod, scrunching her eyes shut. With one more pass of his hand over her clit the pleasure bursts as she clenches around his fingers. She lets out a pant of his name as he fucks her through her high, squiriming in his hold as the sensation becomes nearly too much to bear. He finally relents, drawing his palm up her side before taking the heavy swell of one of her breasts in his hand and squeezing lightly. She groans at the feeling and he shushes her, laying kisses in her hair.

“So perfect, darlin. Did that feel good?” She sighs, craning her neck to meet him in a tangled up kiss.

“Yes, Joel. Wanna feel you. Let me have you, please.” He huffs into another kiss.

“You’ve got me, honey. Whatever you want, it’s all yours.” She turns back in his hold, hitching her leg back along his thigh as he draws his cock through her folds. They both sigh at the contact and her mind goes fuzzy when he notches the tip at her entrance. She’s realizing that it really has been a while, and just how much she missed this, missed him.

He slowly rolls his hips forward until he’s pressed flush with her, stilling like that as they both pant at the feeling. His voice is slow and thick in her ear, sending chills down her neck.

“Fuck– I missed this– missed you so much, darlin. Fucking made for me.” She keens under his praise, arching back into him.

“Joel, please– need you to move– p-please–” With a murmured “I got you” Joel rolls his hips again, slipping away to only spread her open all over again, a little more force in the way he grinds into the plush of her ass. It’s a jolted rhythm, both of them desperately chasing pleasure as he finds a slow but deep pace that she swivels back into. The sound is positively obscene, her arousal slicking each of his thrusts, their shared, broken gasps, the creaking of the bed frame. Joel brings his palm down to rest along the undercurve of her belly, his fingers dipping to circle her clit.

“M’sorry, honey– fuck– already close– will you give me one more? Let me feel you, c’mon, I know you can.” Each pant of her breath is his name, a chant as he tips her over the edge again. She flutters around his cock, throwing her head back into his shoulder. He’s not far behind her, thrusting once, twice, before his hips are stilling against her ass, his warmth washing through her core as he comes with a ragged cry of her name. He presses his damp forehead into the nape of her neck as they both catch their breath. She grabs his hand, tangling their fingers together.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to–” She cuts him off with a squeeze to his hand, a wry smile sliding across her face that he can only glimpse over her shoulder.

“I think it’s a little too late to worry about pulling out, Miller.” A beat of silence, and then he’s laughing gruffly into her back.

“Gonna be the death of me, woman.” She winces slightly when he pulls out and he turns her over in his hold, eyes scanning her worriedly.

“Are you hurt?” She shakes her head.

“Just a little sore. It has been a while, huh?” Joel grimaces, stealing a quick kiss.

“Never letting that happen again. I’ll tie you to the damn bed if I have to I need you so bad.” She sputters out a laugh at his words, brushing his dampened hair out of his face.

“Don’t think that will be necessary. You know I’m all yours.” He smiles, bringing his palm to the expanse of her belly, the warmth in his touch radiating all the way to the tips of her toes.

“I’m all yours, darlin. I love you.” Her eyes still widen when he says that. He’s only said it a handful of times, and it still catches her by surprise. She smiles, brushing a light kiss to his lips.

“I love you, Joel.”

…

They get cleaned up, again, but this time, Joel’s hands practically can’t stay away from her belly as they rinse each other off. 

She curls into his side once they get back into bed, tracing patterns into his chest as he runs his palm up and down her arm. Joel sighs.

“So, Ellie said something about a sister? Do you think it’ll be a girl?” She cranes her neck to look at him, a grin crooking on her face.

“I don’t know. What do you think?” Joel studies her face for a moment before letting out a huff.

“I think we need another Miller boy in this house. You two already gang up on me. We gotta even the playing field.” She can’t help the laugh that bubbles out at that and he quirks a brow at her.

“What? You don’t think it could be a boy?” She quickly shakes her head, stifling her giggles.

“No, no, it’s not that. I just– do you really want a boy that bad?” He purses his lips.

“I mean, I wouldn’t mind a little more testosterone around here. But, I just want him or her healthy. Want you healthy.” She smiles, pressing a kiss to his chest before lifting up to kiss his lips.

“We will be, Joel. As long as we do it together, it’s gonna be alright.” She settles back down onto his chest, but can’t help the giggle that jolts through her thinking about what he said. He jostles her in his hold.

“What?” She sighs.

“Nothing, I’m just happy is all. Go to sleep.” He huffs, but seems to accept her answer, settling into a silence that eventually dissolves into his soft snores. She can’t stop thinking about how funny it is, how badly he wants a boy. 

She just knows it’s a girl, and she knows that this sweet little thing is gonna have grumpy Joel Miller wrapped around her pinky finger from the moment he lays eyes on her. Besides, three against one sounds like pretty good odds to her.

[gotorux]

Fandom Discourse Analysis

Mentions of aging up, enjoying villian characters, and disliking popular characters.

Something I have noticed about anime becoming more popular and mainstream and also the rise in minors in certain spaces is a constant level of discourse over certain topics. I truly believe it’s a good thing anime has become more popular. However, as it brings in more viewers, I think it’s important too open up the conversation surrounding the necessity of distinguishing fiction from reality. There is a lot of posts I see while browsing tags and although I don’t post often I think something needs to be said about three very specific topics that, for me, mean a lot and seem to have a lot of discourse surrounding them. 

One of the things I see happening a lot lately within the community is the hatred against people for liking fictional characters who happen to be minors in their respective animes. The aging up dilemma. First off, let me start by saying that a fictional pixel on a screen does not = minor. It can not be a minor because it is a drawing that was made up whenever the author wrote it. And in a lot of these instances, these characters are crafted by the authors with traits that appeal broadly to audiences, transcending their canon ages. This is particularly evident in shonen anime, where characters are often depicted with maturity, wisdom, or exaggerated physical features that align more closely with adult aesthetics rather than with children. This stylistic choice by many authors is done purposely to cater to a wide demographic, enabling viewers to form connections with characters regardless of age. 

It's important to recognize that a great majority of the time it is NOT the age that attracts viewers to the character which differentiates them with people in real life who are attracted to minors. Having a crush on, or writing about a fictional character that, like I said previously more closely align with adult aesthetics, does not make someone a pedophile. I think when it comes to loli and shota, then yes maybe we can open up this conversation as those characters are made to look like children. But that’s another topic. Acknowledging the fictional nature of these characters and their resemblance to adult fictional characters should be taken into consideration and not be misconstrued as indicative of real-life inclinations towards minors. Not to mention many of these authors don’t want them to be minors which is why they write about them as adults. Again, these are NOT minors. They are drawings and their ages can be changed depending on who’s writing them. An author could come out tomorrow and say the character has always been an adult and that would make it canon. It is not the same as pedophilia. Most people like characters like Sukuna that doesn’t reflect their real life tastes. Which brings me to my next point. 

Liking a villainous character does not correspond to endorsing those actions in real life. Anime often portrays "evil" characters with a depth that makes them appealing through usually through some form of tragic backstory, a charismatic or confident personality, or having extremely complex motivations. I think this makes people often misunderstand that liking them is a reflection of one's real-world values. That is not the case. 

Some people even like these characters just for being attractive and due to the fact they are fictional, and again an authors way of getting people to appeal to said characters, it can not be misconstrued of saying that those actions would be okay in real life scenarios. These characters allow viewers to explore themes of conflict, redemption, and moral ambiguity that can be explored in safety because it’s fiction. I think one of the main reasons people find themselves drawn to them is that villian characters are often created with flaws and authors give them depth to explore said flaws. This is why anti-hero characters are also often seen as more relatable and engaging. Anti-heroes, like villains, aren't bound by the usual moral constraints and often make decisions that are more realistic than heroes would. They can express doubts, conflicts, and vulnerabilities that mirror real human experiences. This makes them intriguing and allows audiences to connect with them on a deeper level.

All that said I think the attraction to villainous or morally grey characters often stems from their complexity and the opportunity they provide for viewers to engage with difficult ideas and emotions in a safe, controlled setting. These characters challenge our perceptions of good and evil by navigating a blurred line between the two which is appealing for most people. 

The last thing I want to bring up which kind of ties in with liking villainous characters is that disliking certain characters beloved by others is not necessarily a negative stance. Anime characters are crafted with diverse backgrounds, personalities, and motives, which naturally produce varied reactions among viewers. Understanding a character's motives yet still disliking them is completely valid and should stop being treated as inherently wrong or a negative reflection of someone. 

People are allowed personal preference and I think that encourages a a better discussion within anime communities whereby differing opinions can coexist. It is through these discussions that fans can dig into character analysis and conversations revolving around characters. Recognizing that disagreement over characters is totally normal and that people can be cool with each other, or be friends and disagree is important in both real life and fiction. 

At the end of the day there is also the block button which I will admit I use when needed, if you disagree with someone’s take. Instead of sending them hate and being a horrible person on the internet. 

[bidisasterevankinard]

fuck it friday

I was tageg by lovely @quintessenceofdust88 thank ylu love <3333

here's yeat another one shot I think I will post tomorrow (for me)(i'm sorry triplets. I'm trully sorry):

“Sal, Gina, I’m serious, it's our second six month anniversary. And it’s Evan’s birthday. Last time all I did was take Evan to a romantic dinner on his birthday to the restaurant that I thought he might enjoy. Yet, the food was not just that he didn’t like, but it sent him into anaphylactic shock,” Tommy sends angry eyes to the laughing married duo. 

“Stop laughing! And that's not all! For our anniversary I got him the tickets to the game he doesn’t enjoy at all!,” Gina falls on the floor laughing over his misery. “Guys, please. I came here for help. I fucked up with the presents twice already. And I have no idea what Evan might need or like. I looked for football tickets, but they all sold out for the rest of the season.”

Tommy turns to his best friend who looks at him laughing on the floor wide with the softest face Tommy’s ever seen Sal have.

“What did you give Gina on your six month anniversary?”

“New photo camera, good orgasm and a kid,” Sal shrugs with a self-satisfied smirk. “She threw her tests in my head a month after that night.”

Gine gets up and sits on Sal’s lap, facing Tommy.

“That’s true. One of the best presents,” she kisses Sal.

“It’s not really helpful,” Tommy pouts, crossing his hand over his chest. “It’s not like I can knock up Evan.”

The idea sounds too appealing to try though. Maybe later he will think more about it. In his own bed. Maybe even with Evan with him in it

“Why not,” Gina looks at him with a smirk and Tommy wants to remind her about the biology, but the woman is quicker to continue, “men’s womb is just deeper into them. You need to try harder. You think I was the one to carry twins? Nuh. It was Sal.”

The couple is smirking and giggling together and Tommy asks himself why he is still friends with them. 

The door opens and two hurricanes are attacking him with hugs, sticking to him as if he has super glue all over him.

“Uncle Tommy, uncle Tommy, uncle Tommy,” two twin girls smiling at him, hugging closer to his neck from two sides and Tommy nods to himself, remembering now why he is still friends with the couple. 

They make the best god-daughters. 

“Hi, uncle T,” his oldest god-daughter, Sofia, hugs his neck from behind and he’s so happy she still in her sixteen years thinks he's cool enough to hang up with him sometimes.

“Finally my favorite girls are home,” he kisses all their cheeks, giggling with Alessia and Arrianna. “Sof, I need your help because your old people are the worst at relationship advice.”

Tommy and Sofia ignore Gina’s “I’m three years younger than you, Kinard!”, they just smirk at each other.

Np tagging @hippolotamus @theotherbuckley @mmso-notlikethat @diazsdimples @powersuitup @evansbuck-ley @epiphainie @lavenderleahy @leashybebes @laundryandtaxesworld @loucifersbitch @midsummersmorn @monsterrae1 @aringofsalt @agentpeggycartering @actuallyitsellie @devirnis @desert--moonchild @hyperfocusthusly @queerbuck @wikiangela @weewookinard @beanarie @bewilderedbuckley @pirrusstuff

@racerchix21 @ravipanikking and anyone who wants to

[tinydefector]

This is my first time requesting anything on this app rn pls bear with me 😭😭

Can you write the TFP decepticons (like soundwave, shockwave, megatron, knockout, starscream) reacting to a young reader with a 90s grunge/metal music taste? Like they regularly play it on a CD player and what not and maybe there can even be HCs about what they like in music as well

Grunge Reader

Oki before we get into the Scenarios, here's the list of bots their thoughts on the music, clothing choice and what I think they would listen too.

Word count: 4k

Warnings: non

Request and ask open, read pinned post

Fanfic masterlist

Shockwave masterlist

Soundwave masterlist

Starscream masterlist

Breakdown masterlist

Knockout masterlist

Megatron masterlist

Soundwave: for me Shockwave indulges in your music on many occasions he enjoy things that make you happy and if it's grunge metal he tends to go out of his way to find music downloading it for you, for him clothing or fabric in general is a foreign thing, only higher ups in the council and senate had those privileges, so he he tends to rather enjoy seeing all the different fabrics you wear.

His music choices tend to go one of two ways, Tecnho music or classical music.

Favourites to listen to

- daft punk

- scandroid

- dance with the dead

- Beethoven

- tchaikovsky

Knockout : Knockout adores listing to both you and Breakdown sing along to grunge music it livens up the medical wing and the amount of concerts the happen of the three of you singing together is amazing, he does adore your clothing choice but most times it a lot of the clothing you wear while helping him weld ends up being your band shirts.

His music choice is very pop based but he does enjoy some scandalous metal and rock.

- Lady Gaga

- nine inch nails

- Nickelback

- My Darkest days

- Rihanna

Breakdown: This bot is a grunge and metal fan, has taken you to multiple concerts events and even shopping for stuff. He has a collection of Cds in his glove box for when you both hangout. He is the one who's slowly convinced Knockout to let loose and dance around to the music with you. TM biggest grunge supporter of the ship.

His favourite bands consist of

- Faith no more

- the smashing pumpkins

- limp bizkit

- powderfinger

- Spiderbait

Starscream: he doesn't understand the appeal nor is he a fan of the music but he will still suffer though it with little remark other than a few grumbles over calling it junk music, but deep down he does enjoy it but only I a tiny bit. Starscream is more into piano and organ. He loves different genres but if it has a piano in it he's automatically captivated. It's the old Vos senator coming out.

- Joe Hisaishi

- Elton John

- mozart

- Ludovico Einaudi

- Billy Joel

Megatron: Megatron as much for his snarl and growl over your 'human' music he doesn't really mind, but he won't admit that, he will enjoy listening to the grunge music on occasions softly in the comfort of his own quarters. It's not really to his taste but he does rather enjoy some of the lyrics.

Music taste for Megatron is funny because I see him enjoying things like, for him it's the lyrics more than the music itself but he would never let anyone know this was the type of music he indulges in.

- Kate bush

- The Wombats

- bastille

- of monsters and men

- Hozier

Shockwave: Shockwave is a strange one for he has no real interest in music he's interested in the effects it has on people the way they react to it. But he himself isn't interested in it, so he doesn't really react to your music. He lets you listen to it and he studies you, how you sing, dance and express yourself. (If it was Senator Soundwave it would be a very different case he'd be a kesha Fan and most like enjoy classical music too)

But for TFP shockwave i feel like he would listen to things that are educational and most times it's only until he has memorised it all.

The periodic table song, he has caught himself humming to when he wishes to remember one of the elements he needs.

____________

SOUNDWAVE

loud music blares from one of the observation desks, 'Best of you' by foo fighters can be heard, At the unexpected yet recognizable guitar riff emanating through his communications hub, Soundwave cycles a quiet ventilation as he turns from maintenance duties to move calmly toward the source of noise and nervous glances. Approaching the observation deck, his visor betrays nothing as optics alight upon the human seated amid controls, belting lyrics with unrestrained passion.

His field pulses gentle amusement even as He lowers the volume slightly. Leaning his massive frame close 'til his visor meets bright eyes. His fingers delicately tap rhythm against a polished table beside his assistant as silence finds its way back between songs.

"Awww why'd you turn it down? I was even speed typing!" They whine out.

"Come on Soundwave you enjoy my music don't try to deny it" the smug comment from them is teasing and aimed at him. Soundwave's visor flickers with a trace of amusement, a smile face flickers onto his visor.

" Volume exceeded safety tolerances for sensitive communication arrays. Appreciation for artistic expression acknowledged." The crude mix of recorded voice combined as One massive talon extends to delicately sweep an errant lock of hair from their smiling face. His free servo rests upon the large keyboard, slowly typing another quick report.

"Continuation of duties mandatory."

His thumb traces a tender caress of their cheek as he continues to work, watching over them as he does so.

"Can I please have it up just a little more, it helps me concentrate on work when I can listen to music" they ask while leaning into his touch, small cheek pressed into his servo.

At their request, Soundwave considers briefly through a gentle pulse of his field before dipping his helm in a nod. "Very well. However, monitor levels closely."

He leans close to peers with gentle scrutiny at their work display, enormous frame bending tenderly as if to shelter their focus.

A deep ex-vent whispers across their cheek and hair. They smile up at him, eyes sparkling in a way only organics do.

"Your the best you know that soundwave" it makes the Decepticon feel very smug hearing those words but he doesn't voice it, His Soundwave's visor brightens subtly as his field swells with pulses of unconditional pride. Inclining his helm in a slow nod, trying to get them to focus back on their work.

"Hey Sounds, I know cybertron probably has its own type of music but if you had to pick a favourite earth genre and artist who would it be?" They ask more out of curiosity. At the thoughtful inquiry, Soundwave's optics linger on them from behind the visor. Though alien to his kind, organic cultural forms have proven insightful in the creativity humans possessed.

After several nanokliks. "Energetic melodies and precise instrumentation suggest preferred categories termed 'Classical' and 'techno'. Composers eliciting strongest empathic resonance include Beethoven and daft punk through capacity to convey vast complexity and emotive depth often exceeding standard units of measurement." He states before they both continue work with a few questions passed between the two of them.

Knockout & Breakdown

'Break stuff' by limp bizkit blares through the medical wing, the sound of a welder can be heard along with singing from both Breakout and their Human assistant. "It's just one of those days!" They both sing out while they continue working on fix work. The human assistant continues welding as Breakdown works on checking that the Venicon being worked on was still in induced status.

Knockout raised an audio receptor as the sound blared through the medical bay, his visor flickering with surprise. He turned to see his Conjunx and their human assistant working together, the two of them singing along to the song. A smirk formed on Knockout's faceplate, finding the scene oddly amusing.

As Breakdown checked on the Vehicon, Knockout approached, leaning against a nearby table with his arms crossed. "Well, well, seems like you two are having quite the productive day," he commented, his voice filled with a mix of amusement and curiosity.

Breakdown glanced up from his task, a grin spreading across his faceplate. " Just trying to keep the energy up here," he replied. "You should join us! It's therapeutic, trust me."

Knockout chuckled, his optics flickering with amusement. "Oh, I wouldn't want to deprive you of your precious bonding time with our human," he replied, his tone dripping with playful sarcasm. "But keep up the good work, Breakdown. We've got quite the repair queue today."

He's all fixed up Breakdown" they call to the other bot.

Knockout's optics widened in mock offence at the human's comment, a playful pout forming on his faceplate.

"Seems like you've got quite the team going here, Breakdown," Knockout remarked, a hint of admiration in his voice. "But don't get too comfortable. We've got plenty more repairs to tackle."

The human flicks up their welding visor as they look to the doctor, "awww do you want me to put some Nine inch nails on for you after KO I know you enjoy them and Gaga" they call out which gets a snicker from Breakdown as he helps the human out of the Venicons chestplate.

"NIN, Gaga, and little ol' me? You know just how to make a mech feel special," he replied, his voice dripping with exaggerated charm. "But I must admit, their music does have a certain... appeal."

Breakdown chuckled at the banter, appreciating the light-hearted atmosphere in the medical bay. He moves towards Knockout who wraps his arms around the larger bot.

Knockout, still leaning into his Conjunx.

"No smooching in the Medbay!, save it for later lovebots!" They human yells while flinging a wrench at breakdown and Knockout, the wrench doesn't hurt either of them but Knockout hisses out about his paint. They move to their phone turning the bluetooth volume as 'Paralyzer' begins playing.

Knockout's optics widened in surprise as the wrench flew past him, narrowly missing its target. He instinctively ducked, his servo reaching up to protect his visage. A playful smirk formed on his faceplate as he looked at the human assistant, his voice filled with amusement.

"Watch the Paint!," Knockout shouts looking towards them,He glanced over at Breakdown, sharing a knowing look with his fellow Decepticon. The unexpected interruption only added to the lively atmosphere of the medbay

"Cheeky little scraplet," Knockout declared, his voice adopting a playful tone. And it makes Breakdown laugh, “don't let them catch you calling them that Red they'll have your helm” Breakdown whispers back to his lover.

Knockout and Breakdown resumed their work, the sound of their tools blending with the music. Despite the wrench incident, Knockout found himself appreciating the human's lively spirit and their ability to inject a sense of fun into their daily tasks.

As the songs continued to play, Knockout couldn't resist adding his own flair, busting out some dance-like moves in between repairs, Breakdown even taking a moment to spin him around. With every twist and turn, his frame exuded a confident charm, his vibrant personality shining through.

In that moment, the medbay transformed into a temporary haven of laughter, music, and productivity. The boundaries between Decepticon and human blurred, replaced by a shared enjoyment of the moment. And as they continued to work and dance, Knockout couldn't help but be grateful for the unexpected companionship and the vibrant energy their human assistant brought into their lives.

Starscream

Starscream loathed being put on pick up duties for the Decepticons 'pet' human as he declared them. He taps his claws against the tree trunk with a snarl.

It's another five minutes before they finally show up at the pick up point.

Starscream narrows his optics at the organic's dishevelled appearance. "You are late," he hisses, talons clenching impatiently against the tree bark. "And what is this...costume you've adorned yourself with? Have you been cavorting in primate rituals again?"

Scooping the human gingerly in his palm, Starscream brings them up to optic level for a more thorough scan. His faceplates curl in distaste at the myriad colours and textures now clinging to their garb.

"I care not what strange fashions the earthlings find appealing. But you represent the Decepticons in this rusting backwater. You will present yourself in a proper manner"

His tone holds a biting edge, though he is careful not to squeeze too tightly and damage his unwilling charge.

Setting the human down once more, he transforms in a whirr of joints, air brakes hissing. "Now Get in. I've wasted enough time already fetching you." His engines rev impatiently, prayer wings arched in a silent threat. Time to return to the Nemesis.

"Stars, I told you I had a concert tonight!, don't talk shit about my fit!" They state while flipping him off. They move to climb into the pilot seat, still humming along to some of the songs.

Starscream's optics narrow dangerously at the human's insolent gesture. "Watch your fleshy appendage, worm, before I remove it," he hisses. Nonetheless, he waits impatiently for the organic to strap into the seat before closing his cockpit windshield. As his flight engines roar to life, Starscream vents a derisive snort.

"A concert, you say? Bah. What pompous cacophony of noise making as 'music' among you humans?" Lifting off and banking sharply into the darkening sky, Starscream runs stealth diagnostics with his free systems. The organic's attire had indeed been outrageous, unbefitting one under Decepticon protection. Still, information is information.

"Now, out with it.?" His turbines whine expectantly, They let out a laugh. "Oh and I thought you weren't interested in the primitiveness of human society, you wanna hear about the music, drugs or amount of people who got hurt in the most pit?" They leaning back into his seat.

"Music, drugs, and injuries, you say? Now you have piqued my interest, fleshling. While your species' rituals hold little tactical value, So out with it, then - what lurid tales do you have to tell?" The two chat between themselves before Starscream asked his next question.

"What strange sounds passed for music among the masses? I assume it involved heavy percussion and vulgar vocals."

"It really depends on your taste Starscream, I happen to enjoy 90s Grunge, metal." They reply while pulling up 'Cannonball' by the breeders as an example. Starscream isn't impressed by it.

"Did cybertron have music? What did you enjoy listening too?"

Starscream considers the noisy music playing in his cockpit, wings twitching in distaste. "Your earthly 'grunge' leaves much to be desired in terms of musical structure and composition," he sniffs. "Though I will concede it matches the primitive aesthetic of your species."

At the human's question, Starscream's optics take on a distant gleam as he delves into memory files. "Cybertron was home to a rich culture and history before the wars consumed all. In the arena before battle, great artists would compose symphonies to inspire our skills and stir our sparks. Legendary musicians like Ironwing wrote anthems that could lift one's spirit even in the depths of the Pits."

His turbines sigh wistfully. "As for my own tastes...there was something majestic about listening to Polyhex Quartet in the archives of the Elite Guard. The way their harmonies echoed through the stacks, remnants of a Golden Age long fallen...it was easy to lose track of time, imagining nobler days."

Banking closer to the Nemesis, Starscream gazes toward the ship looking for his landing platform. "But that was vorns ago."

They hum as they lean forward resting their chin in their hands. "Any kinda human music you do like?" They ask, it was the most starscream had really talked with them, he seemed to enjoy it when people were open to listen.

Starscream considers the human's question, After several nano-klicks of thoughtful silence, he rumbles, "While most of your species' artistic offerings leave much to be desired, I did find some merit in the instrumental compositions of a 'Ludovico Einaudi.' His piano works featured a pleasant minimalism and emotional resonance that reminded me a bit of Polyhex Quartet's melodies from vorns past." As the seeker comes in for landing they quickly finish their conversation before Starscream begins walking off leaving them on the landing pad. “Come on then!” He calls out

Megatron

'Ever flow' by pearl Jam echo's through the Nemesis, and Megatron knows full well who was responsible for the music, his human companion, they had somehow convinced Soundwave to let them play music through the ship. As he approaches the command deck he can see the human sitting on the armrest of his throne-like seat. They look up at Megatron with a smile on their face.

Megatron loomed over the human sitting on his command throne, his optics flickering in irritation beneath his battlemask. "Explain yourself, fleshling," he rumbled. "Why have you taken liberties with my ship? The Nemesis operates according to my will alone." However, beneath his stern facade, Megatron felt a grudging admiration for the human's boldness. Few dared such freedoms amongst the Decepticons.

.

"It's really too quiet in here sir, I thought some music might help with work progress'' they state smugly knowing full well Megatron wouldn't do anything about it, he enjoyed their company too much. As the song continues to play his optics roam the ship taking in how all the Decepticons seem to be working quickly.

Megatron's optics narrowed at the human's insolent reply, but inwardly he conceded the point. A droning silence could sap even the most industrious of mecha. And perhaps this...experiment with music had merits he had not considered. His gaze swept the command deck, noting with grudging approval how the Decepticons laboured at peak efficiency under the strange sounds echoing through the Nemesis.

"You show promise, fleshling," rumbled Megatron. They nearly gasp as Megatron picks them up, holding them to his chassis as he walks out of the command deck with them in toe. They look up at him slightly worried. "Megatron I can change it if you like, I just thought Pearl Jam would be a decent band not too heavy or distracting" they state softly.

Megatron chuckled darkly as the human gazed up at him with concern, still clasped gently in his massive claw. " For now I have no complaints." He strode from the command deck, the human neatly tucked against his chestplate.

The next song that plays is 'monkeys gone to heaven' - by Pixies it's alot softer than the first song and Megatron finds he doesn't quite mind it, it's not the type of music he listened to on Cybertron but it was tolerable.

"Sir, did Cybertron have music?" They ask softly as he places them down on his desk of his hub suite.

Megatron felt his tension lessen ever so slightly as the softer music drifted through his audials. Not the proud martial hymns of Cybertron's past, but... tolerable from this alien creature. He lowered the human gently to his desk, regarding them thoughtfully as the question prompted memories of ages past.

"Indeed, Cybertron had its share of musical compositions," he rumbled. "Grand orchestral." His optics dimmed as he recalled theatre houses echoing with stirring choruses of advancement and glory. How far his once-great planet had fallen since those golden epochs.

"What did you like listening to?, my music taste isn't to everyone's liking but I'm intrigued. What did the great Decepticon leader listen to before he was a leader?" They ask while sitting down watching as he flicks through reports.

Megatron hesitated at the question, taken aback by their audacity. None dared inquire so freely into his past.

"Before the uprising, in Cybertron's golden age, my tastes ran to Cycles of Triumph, music that stirred the spark," he rumbled after a moment. "I was a gladiator then, and such works I found peaceful."

A clawed finger tapped thoughtfully on the arm of his throne. "Your music lacks such scope and poetic pull." His fiery optics regarded the human keenly.

"Is there anything you have listened to of earth music you happen to like?"

"There was one tune - 'Running Up That Hill', I believe the humans call it. Sung by a femme named Kate Bush. An...oddly compelling work."

His optics flickered as another memory surfaced. "And 'Greek Tragedy' by the Wombats - an enjoyable song about the fleeting nature of your species. The instrumentation was pleasing, and the lyrics reminded me of Cybertron's golden ages now lost, days I do sometimes miss."

Megatron fixed the human with a stern gaze. "But speak of this to no one. Your music has proven of some use, small creature, so I permit its continued playing for now. "

Shockwave

Shockwaves optic watches the human walk around the desk, headphones in as they dance to their music, they weren't even away when he was there, as they sing along to their music.

Shockwave observes the human with detached curiosity, analysing their behaviour and attempting to understand the appeal of their actions. The rhythmic movements and the joy displayed on their faces seem foreign to him, as he had never experienced such emotions himself. He analyses the human's clothing, noting the 90s grunge aesthetic and its significance in human culture.

As the human continues to dance and sing, Shockwave's attention is drawn to their carefree nature. It contrasts sharply with his own isolated existence and the weight of his scientific pursuits. He finds himself captivated by their uninhibited display of emotion, something he had only observed from a distance.

Curiosity piqued, Shockwave decides to engage with the human, partly out of a scientific interest in their behaviour and partly out of an unexplainable longing for connection. He approaches cautiously, his footsteps silent, as he stands by the edge of the desk. With a cold monotone, he interrupts their dancing.

"Human, your behaviour is perplexing to me. Explain the purpose of your actions and the emotions they elicit."

They let out a noise of surprise as they quickly remove their headphones. "shockwave!, sorry i didn't know you were back" they state sheepishly.

Shockwave's optic narrows as he observes the human's reaction, noting their surprise and subsequent apology. He remains silent for a brief moment, processing their response before speaking.

"There is no need for apologies. Your unawareness of my presence is inconsequential," Shockwave replies, his voice devoid of any warmth or understanding. "Now, answer my previous inquiry. Explain the purpose of your actions and the emotions they elicit."

The human shifts uncomfortably, their expression changing from surprise to slight unease. They hesitate for a moment before replying, "I... I was just listening to music and dancing. It's a way for me to express myself, to feel free and happy."

Shockwave processes their response, analysing the concept of expressing oneself through music and movement. He finds it intriguing, yet foreign, yet past memories linger for a life that was but a past memory. The emotions they mention, happiness and freedom, are unfamiliar to him these days, but he can sense a certain appeal in their description.

"Freedom and happiness," Shockwave muses, his monotone voice betraying a hint of curiosity. "These emotions are foreign to me. What purpose do they have?”

The human looks at Shockwave with a mix of surprise and sympathy. "Well, Shockwave, emotions are a complex part of being human, humans feel a lot and well music seems to ignite that in us."

Shockwave's single optic flickers as he processes the human's words, contemplating the idea of experiencing emotions. He remains silent for a while, lost in thought, before finally speaking, his voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty.

"I appreciate your perspective. It is a concept I will consider further. Thank you for enlightening me."

The human smiles warmly, offering a kind gesture. "Anytime, Shockwave."

Shockwave nods, his optic fixed on the human.

With that, Shockwave turns to walk away, his mind filled with newfound curiosity and lingering sensations under his plating. The encounter with the human has sparked something within him.

"Wait Shockwave" they call out trying to get his attention before the bot left to continue more studies.

Shockwave pauses in his tracks, turning his attention back to the human who called out to him. His optic narrows slightly, displaying a hint of curiosity as he regards them.

"What is it?" he asks, his monotone voice betraying no emotion. "Is there something else you require?"

"Do you listen to music?" They asked. They wanted to know if he did and if so what kind of music he enjoyed.

Shockwave's optic flickers briefly as he ponders the question. The concept of music as a form of entertainment is something he had observed but never actively engaged with himself. However, in his quest for knowledge, he had gathered data on various forms of human expression, including music.

"I do not listen to music, it has no benefits to my work," Shockwave replies, his voice devoid of any enthusiasm. "However, I have analysed and studied different genres of music as part of my research on human culture. It is an intriguing form of artistic expression. But have not ever listened for pleasure"

The human's face lights up with curiosity, their eyes shining with excitement. "I could play some music for you?, you might get an understanding of why humans like it so much” Shockwave hesitates for a moment, processing the human's offer. The idea of experiencing human music firsthand intrigues him. He nods, his optic narrowing slightly in response.

"Very well," Shockwave replies, his voice remaining monotone. "I am open to experiencing music in order to gain a deeper understanding of its appeal to humans. Please proceed."

The human grins and quickly moves to a nearby control panel, fiddling with buttons and switches until ‘head like a Hole’ begins to fill the room. The music flows through the speakers, enveloping the space with its riffs and rhythms.

As the music plays, Shockwave stands still, his optic focused on the source of the sound. He analyses the intricate patterns, the interplay of different instruments, and the emotions that the music is designed to evoke. And a memory flashes across his processor. His green and white features in a mirror as he sings along to music in his Laboratory, he had just been at a council session, Proteus had irritated him extremely and music helped him settle after the session. It's a fleeting memory of another life.

After a few moments, the human glances at Shockwave, their eyes searching for any signs of reaction. "What do you think, Shockwave?"

Shockwave pauses, his optic brightening for a brief moment before returning to its usual intensity. "Strange…" he states. He'd have to do more research into this.

[bobbinalong]

So, they age down Jon Kent. And then ... what?

Jon Kent's age-up is such a controversial decision, it needs no introduction. A lot of people still desperately want it to be reversed and usually, I'm quick to judge that idea, because even when I was still all for an age-down myself, I wasn't thinking even a minute past that.

Eleven-year-old Jon Kent was adorable and bright-eyed and I missed that adorable kid but let's be very honest, there wasn't too much depth to him. He was just ... a kid. And that was his appeal to me but that's not something you can draw a million stories from, it's quite a finite well of ideas.

But ... that's my opinion. My view point is limited to myself. So, with this post, I'm genuinely asking: And then what? What could they possibly do with an aged-down Jon they couldn't do with a 17/18-year-old Jon.

Under the cut I'll be looking at some of the ideas I've seen thrown around for this age-down but you can easily ignore that, it's just me ... rambling.

Just tell me why you think Jon should be aged-down (and I promise not to be a dick in response for once), because that's what this post is for, that's what I want to know. I'm curious.

Now:

"They stole Jon's childhood. I wanted to see him grow up."

This one, I sorta understand, because this is where I was coming from. These days, I'm more ... "eh" on it. Jon still grew up. He didn't skip a couple years, he lived all that. He says it himself:

(Superman (2018) #8)

So the solution to this seems easy. Give us Superboy: The Lost Years or something along those lines. Let us see him grow up. Retcon it a little so he didn't spend the whole time in the volcano, maybe, make him have to survive on Earth-3 after escaping.

That's not the childhood the people making this point mean and I get that but it's the childhood he's got. We don't know what would've happened if Bendis hadn't come along, you might've hated that just as much.

We absolutely missed out on childhood adventures. There's nothing in the way of us still getting those; they're just gonna be a little heavier and more traumatic than Super Sons. Which brings me to my next point, actually.

"They ruined the Super Sons! Jon and Damian's age-gap is way too big now."

Jon and Damian's age-gap has always been roughly three years. It's still roughly three three years; it's just reversed now. They would've always hit an awkward point. This argument has always been very confusing to me.

"They ruined the Super Sons!" (Without mentioning the age gap.)

I don't see how, honestly. We've pretty consistently gotten Super Sons content during and after the age-up, both with ten-year-old Jon and 17-year-old Jon. They got two Maxis after Jon's age-up, they got a movie, they appear in Specials, and they're still great friends when they get to hang out at their current ages.

And then there's the current Wonder Woman backups, which frankly nail the tone of the original Super Sons run, meaning they're not for me, but like. They do exist.

So if you miss the Super Sons ... well, I think you're not looking hard enough. Because yes, they don't have an on-going anymore, but that was gonna happen, anyway, DC isn't letting anything get past 20 issues these days for some reason. Save for Poison Ivy and Batman, I guess. If DC wanted them to, they could very much still have an on-going.

"I don't want them to de-age Jon because the Jon we've been following isn't the real Jon, anyway. I want them to bring back the real Jon."

Well, this is a conspiracy theory. And I'll be honest, I don't get this one. I don't even know where to start talking about it.

Let's assume the "real Jon" is still trapped in that volcano and he's still a child. Time has still ... passed in the DC Universe. Not as much as in ours, but he's been trapped there for, what, at least a year? So you're not even undoing anything.

This is on me for never looking for never following through on reading anyone's post who wants whatever this is to happen.

This one just seems incredibly stupid to me, I'm sorry. It's nonsense. I promised not to be a dick but it just. It just is.

You want two Jons? One of whom is ... fake? I don't get it.

So back to the beginning. They age-down Jon and then ... what? They can do all of this with current Jon just as well and probably in a more interesting way.

[shiorimakibawrites]

Part 2 (Cat Man Do)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem! Reader Seconding Pairings: Foggy Nelson x Marci Stahl, implied Karen Page x Frank Castle Word Count: 11,000 Summary: It is a day of discovery for you. Warning(s): Swearing, sexual fantasies, referenced masturbation, kissing, dirty talk, referenced marking/hickies, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected P in V sex, referenced oral sex (male receiving), referenced animal abuse (not graphic) Series Masterlist Matt Murdock/Daredevil Masterlist General Masterlist Tag List: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer, @beezusvreeland, @indestructeible, @what-i-call-men, @reblog-reblog666, @flynnethenerd, @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment, @yarrystyleeza, @bellaxgiornata, @reluctanthalfwayofoptimism, @bluerobin35 Also posted on AO3

Cat Man Do

Part 2 of 2

“And that’s the last of it,” you said to yourself as you put the last of the dishes into the drying rack. While you dried off your hands, you did a quick survey of your handiwork. The apartment was now back to its normal state of relative tidiness. The only remaining mess was the nest of blankets that Trouble had burrowed himself into and presumably napping it.

It had been tempting to peek. Very tempting. But you knew yourself. If you did that, you wouldn’t be able to resist petting him. Then you would probably give into the urge to see if he liked any of the cat toys you still had . . . then boom, the housework would be completely forgotten.

It wasn’t that you hated housework. It was just boring. Which made any number of procrastinating distractions rather appealing. Listening to music or podcast on your phone usually helped. Singing along with your favorite songs or learned something interesting made it feel like the dull but necessary work wasn’t taking so long. Thought you had to avoid certain ones while doing housework because sometimes they got you arguing with the people in the magic box instead of doing what you were supposed to. Like ironing your work clothes . . .

Other days, your brain decided to turn whatever was coming out of your phone into white noise and simply daydreamed. Today was one of those days. Fortunate for getting your work done, those daydreams stayed innocent. Imaging Matt having his way with you on your kitchen table, for example, would have been rather distracting. Case in point, even just the thought of that fantasy was making you squirm.

Keeping them sweet didn’t prevent Matt from taking the staring role. Far from it. Which was embarrassing for all different reasons. It was one thing to have sexual fantasies about an attractive man. Picturing that same man saying three little words with that deeply fond smile on his face had different implications.

Implications that made you feel stupid. You knew falling in love with your boss was a bad idea. The king of bad ideas. Mousy secretary falls in love with her incredibly attractive boss is the premise for a romance novel, not a recipe for true love forever. You were going to get your heart broken. Probably not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But someday.

You weren’t looking forward to it. Watching women hit on him already felt like a knife to your heart. Watching while he meet someone else and fall in love with them was going to be agony. Assuming you stayed around to watch. Which you likely wouldn’t do. You weren’t that much of masochist.

The worst part was that you wanted Matt to find his special someone. The person who would make him laugh and help him find joy. Someone who would comfort him when he was sad, take care of him when he was sick. For him to know that someone loved him, that they wanted to stay forever . . . you wanted that for him.

Maybe it was selfish but you just wished that special someone was you.

You knew it was unlikely. Matt had never stated an interest in you beyond friendship. Yes, he flirted. But Matt flirted with everyone. And yes, you had gone on all those outings with him. But those were friend outings, not dates. And yes, on those occasions when Matt asked him to guide him, it seemed like he was reluctant to let go of your arm afterward. Or how he kept holding your hands after they had gotten warmed up after forgetting your gloves last week, only dropping them when the office phone rang . . .

But he never said anything. Sometimes it seem liked he might. Moments where he said he had something to tell you, something that he wanted to ask, that seem like maybe . . . then nothing. Either the universe intervene – phone calls, fire alarm, sudden loud argument between two food truck drivers – or it wouldn’t be exactly what you were hoping for. Like asking if you would be his plus-one at some fancy party being thrown by Columbia Law alum next weekend. That wasn’t a date. It was just practical since he and Foggy had only gotten their invitations to said party this week . . . It was a very deliberate snub considering Marci had received hers month ago . . .

Granted, you hadn’t said anything to him either. In part because you wanted to avoid ruining what you already had. You genuinely liked being Matt’s friend. You valued that relationship and didn’t want to lose it. Or make things incredibly awkward. But big part of it was simply that you weren’t ready to hear ‘I’m flattered but . . .’

You’d probably never be ready. Because no matter how kindly someone tries to let you down, rejection always stung . . .

“Enough moping,” you told yourself sternly. You had a mystery to explore.

But first you were going to check on Trouble. He had been rather quiet. Too quiet. He might simply be asleep but your experience said that sometimes the too quiet cat was a cat getting into mischief. You walked over to the blanket cocoon and peeled back the layers until you found the lithe, brown form. A pair of yellow-green eyes blinked sleepily at you. You couldn’t resist. There were few things cuter than a drowsy cat. You reached over and started lightly scratching behind the ears. Trouble purred and bumped his head more firmly into your hands.

“Hey there, sleepy kitty,” you said. “Enjoy your nap?”

He made one of those trilling noises which only made your smile grow. And encouraged you to keep petting him. Which wasn’t a hardship.

“Your coat is so soft, Trouble,” you said. “Feels like velvet.”

Like your new dress, the one you had let Marci and Karen talked you into buying for the fancy party. You hadn’t intended to buy anything when you accompanied them to the stops. You had fully intended to just wear one of the dresses you already owned. But then you saw it.

A pretty black dress made of velvet that looked like it was your size. Curious, you had checked. It was. Moreover, it was marked off enough to within your limited budget. Which made it very tempting. A temptation that Marci enthusiastically enabled. Come on, at least see how it fits . . .

It fit perfectly, hugging your curves just right. Offered tantalizing glimpses of skin without showing off more than you were comfortable with. You had felt beautiful wearing it. Which meant Marci and Karen didn’t have to push very hard to convince you to buy it. Karen sweetened the deal by reminding you that Matt loved velvet. And that maybe feeling so pretty would give you the confidence boost you needed to tell him how you felt.

Something that both Karen and Marci seemed very certain would be received well. You weren’t nearly so sure but you brought the dress.

In the name of making you feel as pretty and confident as possible, Karen and Marci decided you also needed new shoes and underwear. When you objected that you couldn’t afford to do that, Marci countered that she would pay. Which was why you were now the proud owner of a pair of heels that cost a frankly ridiculous amount of money. Because when Marci decided to treat someone, she didn’t believe in going cheap.

The underwear set had been more reasonably priced but still seemed like a lot for a bra and panties. Even if they were made of high quality silk and lace. But they had looked good on you too and Karen had asked you to imagine if everything went well and the night ended with your dress on Matt’s bedroom floor . . .

You didn’t know what had flustered you more. Your own imagination or that evil, knowing grin on Karen’s face or Marci supplying lewd details of Matt’s sexual prowess. Not from her own experience but she knew people who had slept with him. People whose stories she trusted to be accurate.

Karen insisted that the underwear had to be dark red. Saying with a mysterious smile that Matt would find it hot. Which just confused you. For obvious reasons, purely visual elements like color didn’t hold any appeal for Matt . . .

“Why?” you mused out loud. But since Karen wasn’t here to pester, your only answer was a questioning meow from Trouble. Which probably had more to do with you getting so lost in your head that you had stopped petting him than anything else.

“Sorry, Trouble,” you said, resuming the pets. “Got distracted. Trying to figure out why Karen thinks Matt would find me wearing red silk underwear sexy.”

Trouble made the strangest sound you had ever heard from a cat. Like he couldn’t decide which cat noise to make and kept switching tracks part-way through each one. If he had been human, you would have said he was sputtering.

It was such a funny reaction that you couldn’t help giggling.

Matt’s current form prevented him from blushing. Which he supposed he should be thankful for. His sputtering already had you giggling. He could only imagine your reaction to seeing his cheeks go what he had been told was a lovely shade of dusty pink.

What was Karen up to? Telling you something like that?!

The fact that it was true was immaterial. Now he would have fantasies about running his hands over your curves, feeling your petal soft skin encased in silk . . . and the idea of you wearing Daredevil red immensely pleased that possessive streak that ran deep inside him . . .

But he didn’t need help coming up with impure thoughts about you. He already spent far too much time touching himself while imaging you spread out on his bed, exploring every inch with his hands and mouth, the sounds of your pleasure filling his ears . . . Fantasies that were going to be a lot more vivid now that he knew exactly what those noises sounded like and just how sweet your arousal tasted . . . even if tasting it from the air was a poor substitute for tasting it directly from the source . . .

Matt shook himself. He shouldn’t be thinking about that.

You turned your attention toward your pack and the mystery inside it. You moved the pack over to the couch and started pulling out the suit.

The red color was brighter than you expected, dark scarlet instead of the maroon it had looked under the dim light of your flashlight. The webbing between panels wasn’t black either. It was a deep, deep red that almost black. Like those really good cherries that you loved but could never remember what they were called. It was was just as heavy as you remembered, with the heft that reminded you of an old friend’s bulletproof vest. But more flexible . . . actually, looking at all of the webbing interwoven into it, you’d guess a lot more.

“It seems Daredevil is a bendy vigilante,” you mused outloud. “Probably not as bendy as Spider-Man but that guy is made out of silly-putty. Or at least his spine is.”

The suit was a little scuffed but otherwise looked fine. No holes, rips, or tears that you could find. No visible blood . . . you sniffed. You couldn’t smell any blood either. Just sweat. Something clean that you recognized as saddle soap. The fainter odor of plain soap along with something very familiar.

“Huh,” you said, eyeing the suit. “Daredevil and Matt wear the same cologne. Small world.”

Next, you checked the pouches on the belt. There weren’t that many. They contained a prepaid cell phone that you set aside to look at more closely later, zip ties, fold-up cash, and business cards. Curious, you shuffled through the cards. Nelson & Murdock, Alias Investigations, Chikara Dojo, FEAST, Helping Hands . . . . Each business or charity was separated by paper clips or rubber bands.

“Curious,” you murmured, wondering why . . . maybe he just didn’t want to spend time shuffling through them looking for a particular one? Or didn’t think he would always have time to do that? Maybe he had folded up the cash for the same reason. As long as he remembered how each card was bundled or bill folded, he could get out the right one without looking at them.

You turned your attention to the phone but was immediately stymied. The phone refused to turn on. It didn’t look broken. Which probably meant that it needed to be charged. Guess you weren’t the only one who forgot to put their phone on the charger. Or maybe Daredevil used a phone while fighting crime a lot more than anyone would expect. You grumbled as you got off the couch. You weren’t sure if your charger would work with this phone. Thankfully it did but the batteries were practically dead. Investigating the phone would have to wait.

In the meantime, you inspected the helmet. It was the same color as the suit but not the same materials, something more rigid. But it seemed to be in good shape. You couldn’t see or feel any cracks. You traced the edge of the characteristic horns and mask. You were unable to resist to urge to put the helmet on your own head. It probably looked ridiculous. There was nothing superhero about your oversized tee shirt featuring a gray cat calling itself ‘purr-fect’ and sweat pants. But you were curious. What did the world look like to the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen?

The answer was very red. You had expected a reddish tint from the color of the lenses. But it was more intense than you expected. It was also less . . . clear than you would have thought. The lenses weren’t opaque – you could see through them. But tinted dark like a pair of sunglasses.

“Odd,” you said, wondering why Daredevil had what was effectively sunglasses built into his helmet. It seemed peculiar. Especially for a vigilante that operated almost exclusively at night. And had a known habit of cutting lights to places before going in. The consensus in the hero forums was that Daredevil must be able to see in the dark. But, you frowned, even the best night vision still needed some light . . . even nocturnal animals couldn’t see in total darkness . . .

“If he has superhuman night vision,” you thought outloud, pulling off the helmet. “Maybe his eyes are really light sensitive?”

Trouble meowed loudly. It sounded almost like a no.

“Vetoing that theory, Trouble?” You asked, glancing over at him. He had crawled out of the blanket cocoon and was doing the big stretch. Which, by the rules of cat companions everywhere, you had to comment on. “Ohhh, big stretch!”

He meowed again. You laughed. It was almost like he was answering you.

You smiled and shook your head. Despite Trouble’s rejection, the theory was plausible. Someone whose eyes worked very well at low light could very well be someone that found bright light painful. And while he worked at night, New York City wasn’t all that dark after sundown. Nowhere near as dark as it was out in the forest.

Granted, Hell’s Kitchen was darker at night than most of the city. Streets lights and other sources of lighting that had gotten damaged in the Incident still hadn’t been repaired or replaced. Somehow there was never enough money in the budget. At least not for something like street lights. Some of the landlords were similarly disinclined. Others had died during the aforementioned alien invasion and similar attacks on the city. And many of those estates were a byzantine nightmare of disputed wills, shell companies, and other assorted legal headaches.

You knew this because Nelson & Murdock was one of the many laws firms attempting untangle this particular Gordian knot. The progress had been slow and uneven. Matt and Foggy had muttered many unkind words about property law, estate law, the lawyers involved in creating this mess, and especially the lawyers trying to keep the knot intact because the mess benefited their clients . . . which yes, was their job. But they didn’t have be so smug about it . . .

The color of the lenses was another question mark. Why red? Then you remembered something you had read . . . red lenses or red lights helped people kept their eyes dark adapted or helped them adjust to low-light conditions quicker. Of course that little nugget had been discovered during a romp through Wikipedia Wonderland. So massive grain of salt . . .

Of course, it could simply be aesthetics. It fit with the Devil theme. You imagined that seeing the sudden glint of those red lenses from out of the shadows would be quite intimidating.

“Or maybe he just likes red,” you muttered to yourself, putting the helmet down on the coffee table.

You drummed your fingers against your thigh, staring at the suit . . . why? Why would Daredevil abandon his suit and (possibly) walk into the night wearing (possibly) only whatever was under the suit?

“Which couldn’t be much,” you mused, your face flushing at the thought. Most images of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen were either low-quality, out-of-focus, or too shadowy to make out much. But from what you could tell, the suit was close-fitting. No much room for anything but him in there. Or nothing at all. Which was an idea that made your flush worse.

Matt might have been the leading man in your fantasies but he wasn’t the only one to appear. You had entertained thoughts about Daredevil. Very dirty thoughts. Which was really saying something considering some of the ones involving Matt . . . but there was just something about the vigilante that could made you feel feral.

You had the feeling that those fantasies were about to get more vivid. Because now, you knew what the suit looked like up close. What it felt like under your hands. Granted what it felt like without Daredevil actually in it. Which was, if you were being perfectly honest, a little disappointing. You might be carrying the torch for Matt but that didn’t stop other men from being attractive. Or your mind from idly (and somewhat guiltily) wondering if Daredevil’s suit struggled to contain his muscles the same way Matt’s suits struggled to contain his . . .

Something touched your thigh. You jumped before realizing it was just Trouble putting one of his paws on your leg. Probably looking for attention. You reached down to start petting him, scratching him behind the ears. Which he seemed to enjoy, purring as he crawled onto your lap. You were easily tempted away from your mystery.

“You’re a total lap cat, aren’t you?” you asked. Your only answer was louder purring.

You were starting to feel almost sleepy, sitting here with a purring cat in your lap. Especially on a day like this, gray and unusually quiet for New York. Which made the notification chime from your phone inordinately loud. Checking it required disturbing Trouble. Which he made very clear that he didn’t like.

“I know, I know, you were comfortable,” you said, checking the notifications. Mostly text messages from friends and family making sure you were okay. You had just sent off a couple of replies when you caught something out of the corner of your eye.

Looking away from your phone, you peered at the suit. What . . . oh. There was something inside the crumpled suit, a bit of fabric peeking out. Curious, you sat down your phone and touched it. Silk. You gave it a gentle tug and the cloth came out.

Immediately, you felt your face flush again. It was underwear. Specifically a pair of men’s black boxers. Black silk boxers. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen wore black silk boxers. For reasons you couldn’t really explain, this made you giggle.

The universe was a peculiar place. One where a blind defense attorney and a vigilante had interesting things in common. They both liked silk. They wear the same cologne. And estimating from the suit, Daredevil and Matt were the same height and had a similar build.

And apparently knew a lot of the same people. Matt carried a lot of the same business cards, personally knew the owners. Though you were a little unclear on how he had met some of them. Jessica Jones, you could see. She lived and worked in Hell’s Kitchen and her zero-tolerance policy for assholes often got her trouble with the cops. But the others were less clear . . . It didn’t help that when you had asked, the story you had gotten had been rather vague.

It wasn’t the only story where Matt, Foggy, and Karen got evasive. Another sign that there were secrets in the office of Nelson & Murdock. And not the normal client-confidentiality type secrets . . .

Glancing back at the suit, you noticed something else. Something you couldn’t believe you had missed. It didn’t look like it had been stripped off. None of the zippers or other fasteners were undone. You frowned, looking closely at it again. How could he have gotten it off without undoing any of the fasteners?

All thoughts of Daredevil were driven out of your head when Trouble let out a pained yowl. You snapped your head up to see him fall off the couch, writhing and twisting like he was having a seizure. You rushed toward him but then something weird happened. Trouble began to grow and swell, becoming bigger and bigger . . . body twisting and jerking the entire time . . . until what was laying on your floor wasn’t a cat. It was a man.

A very familiar man. Matt Murdock lay there, his body still twitching and spasming. His chest heaved and his forehead was beaded with sweat.

You couldn’t believe your own eyes. Had that really just happened? You pinched yourself. It hurt. So not a dream. You reached out and touched Matt’s shoulder. It was solid and warm under your hand. The muscles still twitching from . . . whatever that was. But gradually the twitching stopped and the tension in Matt’s jaw eased.

“Sorry,” he said. His voice was strained. “Didn’t want you to find out this way.”

Find out what? That he turned into a cat? Or . . . you looked at the suit. Then it clicked. All of the pieces suddenly made sense. Matt was Daredevil. The suit didn’t look like it had been stripped off because it hadn’t. The person wearing it had merely gotten much, much smaller.

“You’re Daredevil?” you asked, just to be sure.

“Yes.”

“And you turn into a cat?” you asked. You hoped not. He was a very cute cat but that transformation had looked like hideously painful.

His lips twitched into something like a smile. “Not usually. This was the first time.”

“Okay,” you said. You took a deep breath. Than another. Your boss was Daredevil. He had been turned into a cat. You had taken him to your apartment. He might have observed you having a dirty dream about him. This was fine. You were fine. Everything was fine.

Another breath. “Expected development?”

“No. Magic spell. I think.”

“Magic spell?” you repeated. “Like actual magic? You know, nevermind. Of course, magic is real. Why the hell not? We were invaded by aliens. There is a Norse God living uptown. Why wouldn’t magic be real?!”

You were babbling. But you couldn’t help it. It didn’t help that Matt was really smiling now. With the dimple and everything. Which had always left you flustered. Especially when combined with that fond look. Even if it almost immediately faded to something sober and tentative.

“Let me sit up and I’ll explain everything.”

“Okay,” you said. But as he started to push himself into a sitting position, you noticed something. Something that left you even more flustered. Matt was naked. Completely naked. Not a single stitch on him. You could see his . . . everything. Feeling your cheeks burn, you jerked back and whirled around to face the wall.

“Sweetheart?”

You felt your heart beat faster at the pet name. He had never called you that before. At work, he was entirely professional. And when you were at Josie’s or an outing, he just called you by your name.

“Clothes,” you said, feeling little frantic. You needed answers – to so many things – but you couldn’t have that conversation with him while he was naked. You would get . . . distracted. But none of your clothes would fit him . . . wait, the boxers! Where . . . you looked . . . there!

You scurried forward and snatched the boxers off the floor. Keeping your eyes firmly on his face, you went and dropped the underwear into what you hoped was his lap. “Your boxers. This isn’t a naked conversation.”

A soft huff of laughter. “No, it isn’t. Thank you, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart again? It wasn’t a slip of the tongue? Your cheeks couldn’t get any warmer but they sure tried.

You turned away again to give him some privacy while he dressed. For a given value of dressed. Considering it was only underwear. You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt and tried not to think about that. Or his . . . everything. You had limited success.

“I’m decent. You can look now.”

‘That’s debatable,’ you thought after you turned to face him. Yes, everything that needed covering was now covered. But the boxers fit him snugly enough that very little was left to the imagination. Not that you really needed your imagination anymore . . . . And that wasn’t even taking into account the rest of him.

You had known he had muscles. You just hadn’t realized he had quite so many muscles . . .

Matt realized that you had gotten distracted when it took a couple of times calling your name to get your attention. He was well aware that you were attracted to him but it was still gratifying to his ego to experience your body’s reaction to him. And the way the temperature and blood shifted to your face when you realized that you had been caught staring was rather cute.

But he soon sobered, remembering what you had just discovered. What he needed to explained. “Do you remember how I lost my eyesight?”

“I remember,” you said.

“Those chemicals didn’t just blind me,” he said. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He squared his shoulders, bracing himself for your inevitable reaction. Then he explained how his remaining senses had been enhanced to a superhuman degree. How he could hear everything happening around him, for several blocks. Further if he was focusing on someone he was familiar with. How he could very likely find Foggy, Karen, or you anywhere in this city if he needed to.

That his other senses were just as keen. Did his best to describe his world on fire. The others had poked fun of his metaphor but it was the best one he had found. He felt the usual frustration at not having the right words, the perfect words, to describe how he experienced the world. Words that help someone else understand his world without the misconceptions.

But such words didn’t seem to exist. He had to make do with the ones he had.

He took another deep breath, continuing in a very firm voice. “My senses do not change the fact that I cannot see. There are things my senses cannot tell me. Like what color anything is. Times when my world on fire isn’t as reliable as I would like such as when I’m tired or ill. My cane and other adaptive equipment aren’t props. I’m not pretending to be blind. I am blind.”

“Someone actually said that to you?” you said, sounding shocked. It was the first time you had spoken when he had started talking.

“Yes,” he said, trying not to remember how Foggy had spit out those words. Hardly the most painful thing that had been said that awful night . . . but the clear disgust in his voice had stayed with Matt for a long time . . .

“Who?” you demanded, your heartbeat sharply rising. He heard the shift of bone and muscle as your hands curled into fists. It was sweet that your first reaction was defend him. If it was completely unnecessary.

“Doesn’t matter,” Matt said, waving it off. “They didn’t really understand the explanation at first. Neither of us were in the right head space for the conversation. We’ve talked more since then and now they get it. And they apologized for that particular misunderstanding.”

You sighed.

You weren’t entirely surprised. Matt tended to be forgiving. Along with a rather concerning habit of ignoring or downplaying things when he was the one being treated poorly . . . And, as you silently reminded yourself, you didn’t know the whole story. That wouldn’t make what they said okay but it might make it understandable . . .

Regardless the decision to forgive or not to forgive was ultimately Matt’s, not yours. And he had obviously chosen to forgive whoever it was. Best to let it go and change the subject.

“Do you want some coffee?” you asked. “Or something else to drink?”

That bit of gravel in his voice might do all sorts of tingly stuff to your insides but he had been talking for a while. His mouth must be getting dry.

“As long you are making it anyway, coffee would be great,” Matt said.

“Coming right up,” you said and went into the kitchen. As you set up the coffee to brew, you did your best to process anything you had just learned.

Matt was Daredevil. It explained a lot. Foggy and Karen certainly knew. It was the only explanation for why they went along with Matt’s very obvious lies about how he had been injured. And why they didn’t seem . . . well, you couldn’t say that there was no concern. You had seen the pinched look of Foggy’s face when Matt was moving like it hurt him to breath. The worried, accessing look Karen gave particularly colorful bruises.

And yet, they had accepted every single one of his excuses from the plausible to the silly without question. Told you there was nothing to worry about when you expressed concern about Matt’s well-being. Even through sometimes neither looked like they really believed that . . .

Now you realized that they were concerned. It was just a different kind of concerned. Because they weren’t wondering how Matt kept getting hurt. They weren’t racking their brains trying to figure out who was hurting him or if all those worrying signs were related to some kind of health problem. Like maybe he was having seizures or something like that but was refusing to see the doctor . . .

But every theory you came up with kept hitting the wall for not being able to explain why Foggy and Karen didn’t seem to share your concerns. Why they clearly loved Matt but ignored that something troubling was obviously going on with him. . . . It hadn’t made any sense.

Now it did. Matt was Daredevil. They knew he was Daredevil. And knew his injuries were from fighting crime.

Matt had super senses. Which meant, you realized with a certain amount of horror, he had absolutely heard you moaning his name while touching yourself this morning. You buried your face in your hands with a soft groan. There was no hiding your non-platonic feelings anymore. The cat was out of the bag. Pun fully intended.

“What’s wrong?”

You jumped. You weren’t expecting his voice to be so close. He wasn’t crowding you or anything. His position by the edge of the counter that divided the kitchen from the living room was a couple feet away from where you were standing in front of the coffee pot. But you hadn’t heard him moving around. Apparently he didn’t need to be cat shaped to walk silently through walls.

“Sorry,” he said, though the little twitch of his lips belied that apology. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Somehow,” you said, willing your heart to slow back down. “I doubt that.”

“Do you?”

“I saw those lips twitch,” you pointed out. “You think making me jump is funny.”

“That is quite the accusation,” he said with mock seriousness. “Do you have any evidence?”

Using his courtroom voice was cheating. Especially when he was only wearing boxers. Pure cheating. You pulled out your stubborn streak, standing with your fists on your hips. “I know what I saw. I will not be fooled by your twisty-turny lawyer tricks into saying otherwise, Mr. Murdock.”

“That sounds like a challenge, sweetheart.”

The pet name said with that almost purring voice sent tingles down your spine. And brought renewed heat between your legs. Rather annoyingly the cocky smirk on his face did nothing to diminish that ardor. Maybe if he had been wearing more than boxers . . . or if he didn’t look so good half-naked . . .

A soft cough brought you back to the present. You felt your cheeks get warm again, realizing that you had been so busy staring at his abs that you hadn’t noticed him talking.

“Distracted?” he asked, a teasing grin spread wide across his face.

“No,” you said quickly, feeling the warmth in your cheeks intensify.

He hummed, tilting his head slightly to one side. “Lie.”

“What?”

“Oh, did I forget to mention that I can tell when someone is lying?” He said, feigning innocence. It wasn’t a very convincing performance. He was far too amused.

“No, that detail hadn’t come up yet,” you said. “How?”

“Mostly your heartbeat. It changes when someone is lying.”

Suddenly, something you had observed at the office now made sense. Your job was more on the reception and secretarial side but sometimes you acted as their paralegal. When acting in that role, you had seen Foggy subtly nudge Matt who would give a little shake or nod of his head. You hadn’t know what to make of it at the time. Now you realized that Foggy was checking to see if their client or whoever else they were interviewing was telling the truth.

When you asked about your theory, Matt was quick to confirmed it. A moment later, the coffee finished brewing. You pulled down the two mugs, then doctored them to each of your coffee preferences.

“You seem to be taking this rather well,” he remarked, after taking a sip of his coffee.

You shrugged. “It’s not that surprising once I started thinking about it.”

“It’s not?”

“No.”

Matt chuckled. “What, you didn’t believe that I got that black eye tripping over a curb?”

“Not even a little bit.”

“Come on, I thought that one was very plausible.”

“Only for someone who doesn’t know you,” you said. “Or your friends pretending for the sake of your secret identity.”

He laughed. “Fair enough.”

You drank more of your coffee, enjoying the comfortable quiet. To avoid getting distracted by his half-naked body again, you kept your eyes on his face. Which probably wasn’t the best plan. Matt’s handsome face was a distraction in its own right. Especially when he wasn’t wearing his dark glasses. It wasn’t the first time you had seen him without them but the sight always pleased you. It meant Matt trusted you. Not with all of his secrets, obviously, but enough that he didn’t feel the need to hide himself.

Along with those lovely hazel eyes, there were further delights. The generous mouth, good cheekbones and that strong jaw dusted with facial hair. Heavily dusted today. He hadn’t shaved lately. So he had the very start of a beard. You had never seen Matt with a beard. You bet that he would look good with one . . .

“Penny for your thoughts?” Matt said, interrupting your attempts to imagine him with a beard.

“Nothing important,” you said. “Just noticed you hadn’t shave lately and was idly wondering if you were growing a beard.”

Matt made a thoughtful humming sound. “It is tempting this time of year but they get so itchy during the summer.”

“That sounds like the voice of experience,” you said.

“It is,” he said. “Wore one for a couple years during college. Shaved it off just after starting L1.”

“Any particular reason why?” you asked, making a mental note to ask Foggy if he had any pictures of bearded Matt. You needed to see them. For science. Or something.

“An especially muggy day in August when the air conditioners decided to stop working. And the girl I was seeing at the time liked me clean-shaven. Said my beard was too rough when I kissed her.”

A salacious grin spread across his face. “Among other activities.”

“Did she?” you said, trying and failing to sound nonchalant. Because your mind had immediately become consumed with imagining the delicious contrast between prickly beard on your thigh while his soft lips . . . warmth flooded your cheeks.

You saw Matt’s nostrils flare. Then the tip of his tongue slipped out to run across his lips. He made a soft moan that went straight to your cunt. It was impossible not to get worked up. Not with those images in your head. Not with that sound. You were equally unable to stop your breath from hitching as he stepped closer. And closer, stopping just shy of touching you.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked. His voice had always done things to you but that huskier timber really made you shudder. There was only one answer you could give.

“Yes.”

And he was kissing you. Gentle at first, a delicate press of the lips with your head cradled in his hands. But it didn’t remain that way for long. Not after all those months of pent-up desire. Now that you didn’t have to resist kissing him, you all but devoured his mouth.

Matt matched your eagerness, seemingly just hungry for your mouth as you were his. Even the need for air barely kept your lips apart. The entire world might as well have disappeared. You were aware of nothing else. Only that mouth kissing you and greedily swallowing every moan you made. Only those large, warm hands sliding down your body, skimming the sides of your breasts until coming to rest on your hips. Only his body against yours. The edge of the counter digging into your back barely even registered.

At least to you. Matt made some grumpy-sounding noise, then his hands were gripping your hips and lifting you up onto the counter. Your startled yelp turned into a moan when he slot himself between your legs. Any lingering doubts you had about him finding you physically attractive were dispelled at the feeling of his growing erection rubbing against your core. You couldn’t contain a second louder, stuttered moan. Even with too many clothes in the way, it felt incredible . . .

“If you want me to stop,” he rumbled, nuzzling your neck. “Tell me to stop. Tell me no.”

“Don’t stop,” you said, your voice dangerously close to begging. But you didn’t care. You had wanted this for so long. “Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t, sweetheart. Not unless you want me to.” he said, then one hand abandoned its place on your hip to tug lightly at your shirt. “May I?”

“Yes, yes,” you said, rising your arms to help Matt pull off your shirt. Despite the heater chugging away, your skin still immediately pebbled. Your nipples had already tightened into peaks. You kissed him again as your shirt was tossed . . . somewhere. You weren’t paying attention to your shirt. All of your attention was Matt and the hungry, almost feral look on his face.

Matt ran his hands over your body, exploring every inch of bare skin from the tips of your fingers to the waistband of your sweatpants. So soft, even softer than he had dreamed. Keeping his hands to himself the next time you were at work was going to take some serious self-discipline. He blazed a trail of kisses down your neck until he found a spot that had you shuddering.

There, he applied little nips and lathed at the skin until he was satisfied there would be a mark. One that by happy coincidence should peek out from behind the collar of your work blouses. Good. That should let any would-be suitors know that you were taken. It was selfish but he didn’t want share this delightfully soft skin with anyone.

Or how responsive you were. He greedily took in all your reactions. The dancing rhythm of your heart. The breathy moans as his mouth continued its downward journey. The gasps when he started lapping at one peaked nipple while squeezing the other breast in his hand. The way you cried out his name when he latched onto that nipple and sucked. The way you arched your back, begging for more. How your nails bit into his shoulder when he obliged, swirling his tongue around the hardened nipple. The whines when he removed his mouth from that breast . . . and how it turned into a wordless cry when he gave the other breast the same attention.

Best of all, the scent of your arousal soaking through your panties. All because of him. You smelled just as sweet as you had been this morning. Only this time he wasn’t a cat. Soon, he would be on his knees. Soon, his face would be buried in that wonderfully drenched pussy . . .

Soon . . .

You were burning. A fire that Matt had lit, then steadily built with his hands and mouth until you burned with need. An urgency that the man himself didn’t seem to feel. He moved at a speed that could be best described as languid.

“M-matt,” you whined.

“Yes?” he asked, lifting his head from your breast. Seeing his lust-darkened eyes and kiss-swollen lips made the growing ache in your cunt worse. “What does my sweet girl need?”

My sweet girl . . . . Your cunt clenched desperately around nothing. “Need you.”

“Gotta be more specific than that,” he said. “Tell me what you want.”

You were half naked on your kitchen counter and fully ready to have sex with this man and yet somehow that question still managed to fluster you. “Maattt.”

“I’m not a mind reader, sweetheart. You have to tell me what you want,” he said, sounding almost conversational. But his voice was too husky, his eyes too hungry, for that. The way his thumbs rubbed the skin just about the waistband of your sweatbands was another dead giveaway.

Your mouth opened, then closed.

“No need to be shy, sweet girl,” he continued, pausing to give another little nip to the top of your right breast. A spot that you hadn’t realized that so sensitive until he started lavishing it with attention. “No one but me will hear you.”

Biting your bottom lip, you considered that. He was right. It was just you and him. And you trusted him . . . Maybe you should start with something simple?

“My pants and underwear,” you said, managing to keep your voice steady. “I want them off.”

The smirk he flashed you was all kinds of wicked. “As you wish.”

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your pants and started tugging it down. Along with your panties. In a sharp contrast to his earlier leisurely pace, he quickly yanked down the clothes and tossed them aside. Like with your shirt, you found yourself too distracted to notice or care where your clothes went.

Matt gripped your knees and spread your legs wide. He then sank down to his knees, shifting forward until he was tantalizingly close to where you desperately wanted him. The sight once again had your cunt clenching around nothing. A deep rumble, almost like a growl, erupted from him. It matched the feral expression spreading across his face.

“Tell me what you need,” he demanded, his voice a growl full of gravel. You shuddered. You had never heard him speak like that. But it worked you up just as much as his courtroom voice. His hands tightened on your thighs. “My fingers?”

He lifted one hand away from your leg, then ran a single thick finger through your folds. You gasped when that finger brushed over your clit, then groaned with disappointment when that fleeting touch was all you got. Then felt your mouth go dry when he raised the finger to his mouth and licked off your slick. Especially when Matt let out a low moan, briefly closing his eyes in clear pleasure.

“Or my mouth,” Matt continued. You gasped when he leaned forward and gave the entire length of your cunt a single lick. You tried to lift your hips but Matt’s hands clamped down on your thighs and pinned you down to the counter.

“Matt!” you pleaded but the grip on your legs remained firm.

“Tell me,” He said, then blow a puff of air against your desperate cunt. He nuzzled your inner thigh, his rough stubble sending sparks down your spine. “What does this beautiful pussy want?”

“Maatt.”

“Tell me, sweet girl.” He kissed your inner thigh. Then another kiss. It rapidly became clear that your desperate cunt wasn’t going to get the attention it wanted unless you said the words.

“Matt!”

“Tell me.”

“Your mouth,” you begged. “Please, I need – fuck!”

Matt did another long, slow lick up your entire slit. After a teasing swipe across your clit, he turned his attention to your soaked entrance. There he lapped with soft, little licks which were obscenely loud. Like he was messily eating an ice cream cone. One that he clearly enjoyed, making a low noise that sounded remarkably like purring. The vibration contributed to making your own, much louder moans. Instinctively you tried to squirm but his hands kept you right where he wanted you. You could feel that familiar pressure start to build.

He pulled away. No! You started to protest but was cut off by Matt lifting your legs and throwing them over his shoulders. Then his mouth was back on you, his tongue circling your entrance before slipping inside you. Your hands scrambled for something to hold onto as his tongue fucked into you again and again

That something ended up being Matt’s hair. But he didn’t seem to mind, rewarding every tug on the hair twisted tightly in your fingers with a loud groan. Then his tongue slipped out of you, switching its attention to your clit. You cried out. He altered between teasing licks and stronger lapping as you chanted his name.

Matt wrapped his lips around your little bud and sucked. You almost screamed. Your legs began to tremble as you started hurling toward your peak. Then he thrust two thick fingers inside you. Your thighs squeezed his face between them. Close, you were so close . . . then his fingers curled. You fell over the edge calling out his name.

Your cunt clenched tightly around his fingers. Fingers that continued to work you through your orgasm. His mouth remained latched onto your clit, sending wave after wave of white-hot pleasure. Only you started to whimper from oversensitivity did he lift away from your clit. He withdrew his fingers, replacing them with his mouth. You let out warbling moan as he noisily lapped at your entrance.

By the time he pulled away, you were a limp puddle on your own kitchen counter. Despite your recent orgasm, your cunt clenched again. Because Matt looked thoroughly debauched. His hair mussed, eyes half-lidded, those pink lips swollen and glistening with your slick. While you watched, his tongue slide out and slowly licked it off.

Matt knew you were watching him. It was obvious from the way your heartbeat sped up. The hitch in your already heavy breathing. The fresh slick dripping out of your cunt, even more tempting now that he knew just how sweet you tasted. He settled for the slick clinging to his two fingers, putting them in his mouth and sucking them clean. Not as nearly as good as getting it directly from your cunt but the strangled groan you made watching him do it was its own reward.

Fingers now clean, he carefully lowered your legs from his shoulders and rose to his feet. Matt heard you shifting, pushing yourself back into an upright position. Then, your hands reached out and tugged his head down to kiss him. You moaned into his mouth at the taste of yourself.

But you didn’t stop there. Your hands leisurely made their way down his torso until you reached his boxers. Your fingers dipped under the waistband, then hesitated.

“May I?” you asked.

“Please,” he answered, eager to see what you would do.

Permission granted, you peeled his boxers down. His cock eagerly sprang free of its confines. As Matt finished pushing his boxers off, you felt a tinge of nerves. His cock hadn’t looked small during your brief glimpse earlier. But it had been flaccid then. Now that his cock was fully erect, you realized he was rather more . . . impressive than you had first thought. Or even imagined and Past You had been rather hopeful that he had a big dick . . .

“Sweetheart?”

The clear concern in Matt’s voice had your head snapping up. He was frowning at you, his brow furrowed with worry.

“You know you don’t have do anything, right?” he asked, his tone deadly serious. “If you want to stop right now, we will.”

“No,” you said, rapidly shaking your head. “I want to.”

He frowned, his head titling slightly to one side. Listening, you realized. Doing his human lie detector thing. “But?”

“I’m just a little nervous,” you said, tapping your fingers against your bare thigh.

“Why?” he asked.

You felt your cheeks warm. “It’s . . . um . . . you’re . . . ah . . . bigger. Than any . . . of my exes.”

“Is that so?” Matt looked distinctly smug. “I can be gentle. But if you’d like to wait –”

“No,” you interrupted. Because nerves wasn’t your only reaction to seeing his cock. Feeling suddenly bold, you reached over and wrapped your hand around his cock. And feel another tinge of nerves and anticipation at realizing that Matt wasn’t just long, he was thick. You started stroking him, slowly adjusting the firmness of your grip as you watched the reactions on his face. He moaned, his hands finding their way back to your hips.

You noted, with a certain amount of satisfaction, that he looked a lot less smug now.

Feeling more confident, you continued, “I don’t want to wait. I want this.” Your thumb swiped across the tip, smearing the weeping pre-cum. His hips jerked and out of his mouth came a beautiful groan that you immediately wanted him to make again. “Inside me.”

His hands tightened on your hips. That feral look was creeping back in. “I don’t – ah – have a condom.”

“Don’t want one,” you said. You knew it was a dumb thing to do. Reckless. But you were tired of all of the barriers that had been separating the two of you. The thought of another one just rubbed you the wrong way.

Your hand slide off of his cock. A faint whine escaped his throat. Tempting you to put your hand back. But it felt . . . coercive . . . to be giving him a handjob while asking him if he wanted a condom after you had just made it clear that you didn’t want one. Especially since you knew Matt had a people-pleasing streak.

“But I, um, have a box of condoms in my bedroom. If you’d rather wear one,” you offered, feeling renewed warmth in your cheeks. It had been an impulse purchase during one of those rare periods when you were both determined to tell him your feelings and confident it would go well . . . only to chicken out once you were actually in front of Matt.

“I don’t think many man would rather wear one,” he said. “As long as you were sure . . .”

“I am.”

“Okay,” he said. “When did you buy these condoms?”

There was a peculiar note in his voice. He sounded almost . . . jealous? But that couldn’t be right. Why would Matt be jealous?

“Last month,” you said. “Past Me, um, had a moment where she, ah, . . . was very confident that you’d agree to a date? And that sex might happen afterward?”

A smile spread across his face. “Past You would have been right. Past Matt would have agreed in a heartbeat.”

“What about Current Matt?” you asked, daring to hope.

“Current Matt agrees with Past Matt,” he said. “I would love to go on a date with you.”

Your heart gave a leap. “You would?!”

“Of course,” he said, utterly matter of fact. Like he was stating something obvious. The sky is blue. Grass is green. Matt Murdock wanted to go on a date with you. “I’ve wanted to ask you for a while.”

“Why didn’t you?” you asked.

“In part because you didn’t know about Daredevil,” he said. “Not telling a one-night stand is one thing. Not telling my girlfriend is something else.”

“Girlfriend?” you repeated.

“Yes,” he said. “If you would like to be.”

“I would like that,” you said, smiling.

“Good,” he said. Then he suddenly laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“All the ways I pictured asking you to be my girlfriend,” Matt said. “Standing in your kitchen naked wasn’t one of them.”

“Me neither.” You giggled. “We’ve done this all topsy-turvy.”

“We have,” he agreed. “Normally, I’d take you to dinner before burying my face in your sweet cunt.”

The reminder sent fresh arousal pooling between your legs. Despite that toe-curling orgasm, that particular body part was eager for more. A desire that only increased when his pink tongue darted out to slowly lick his lips. Then he made another soft moan. The same soft moans he had made while eating you out . . . your heart raced as something finally clicked together in your mind.

“Can you taste, um, . . ?” you trailed off, feeling your cheeks burn. You couldn’t say it.

“How wet that pussy is for me?” Matt said, his eyes darkening. “Yes. Having my mouth on you is better but from the air, the aroma of it, is still . . . intoxicating.”

Part of you was embarrassed. Especially when you thought about this morning, that Matt hadn’t just heard you touching yourself. But another, larger part of you was powerfully turned on. There was something very hot about knowing that just the taste of you, the smell of you, was putting that hungry look on his face.

You squirmed. Then something else occurred to you. “Technically you have taken me to dinner many times.”

“Very true,” Matt said, then chuckled. “Foggy has been saying that we’ve been dating for months.”

“Karen said the same thing,” you said. “Maybe they are right?”

“Definitely,” Matt said. “And we’ve been idiots.”

“Total idiots,” you agreed, then pulled him down for another kiss.

You could still faintly taste yourself in his mouth. Before you knew it, your hands were buried in his hair. Matt used his grip on your hips to pull you over to the counter’s edge. He pressed himself against you. Despite the intervening conversation, he was still hard. Feeling himself grind his cock against your cunt had felt good before. But now? Without any clothes in the way? It stoked that banked fire inside you into an inferno.

You wanted . . . no, you needed him. You didn’t care that you were in your kitchen. You needed that cock filling your achingly empty cut. You needed him to fuck you stupid.

“Matty,” you whimpered, breaking away from the kiss. “Need you.”

“What do you need, sweet girl?” He rumbled against your throat. “What does your pretty pussy need?”

This time you didn’t hesitate. “Needs your cock. Needs you to fuck me.”

He growled. You expected him to line himself up, to start fucking you right then and there. Instead he shifted his grip to your thighs and lifted you off the counter. Startled, your hands abandoned his hair in favor of his shoulders to steady yourself as he carried you out of the kitchen. Given the small size of your apartment, it didn’t take to figure out where he was taking you.

Sure enough, soon he was lowering you down onto your bed. He kissed you deeply as his knees encouraged your legs wider. Not that you needed much encouragement. He grinded against you, coating his cock in your slick. Sparks raced down your spine every time the head nudged your clit. It was so good. It was not enough. Your cunt clenched desperately around nothing.

“Stop teasing me,” you begged. “Please . . . fuck me.”

Which was apparently all he needed to hear. Matt took himself in hand, lining himself up with your entrance. Then, finally, he was inside you. You gasped, nails digging into his back. It was just the tip of him but the stretch was noticeable. Despite the clear hunger on his face, he didn’t move. Stayed right where he was while your cunt fluttered around him until you were ready for more. Slowly, he pressed in deeper and deeper. Until his cock was fully sheathed inside you.

You felt so good. So deliciously full. No one had ever filled you like this. Then Matt started to move, gently rocking his hips into you. Pleasure washed over you with each back and forth movement of his cock so deep inside you. You couldn’t stop moaning. You could feel yourself climbing back toward that precipice.

“Taking me so well,” Matt said, then groaned when your cunt clenched around him at the praise. “Ready for more, sweetheart?”

Your answer was another stuttered moan.

“Words, sweet girl. I need words.”

“More,” you managed to moan out. “More. Mo-”

You were cut off by sharp snap of his hips. His first real thrust into you. You cried out wordlessly. Cries that only got louder as the thrusts got faster and deeper. Instinctively, your hips began to move. You thought he couldn’t get any deeper. You were wrong. As soon as you matched his rhythm, you felt him sink just a little further inside you.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Matt grunted. “Just like that.”

Matt was always handsome. But there was something indescribably beautiful about how he looked now. The pull and flex of his muscles as he moved in and out of your body. Skin kissed with sweat. Hair, a fluffy chaotic mess. His face, for once, with no sign of worry or stress. Just pure pleasure. The grunts and moans spilling out of his mouth with each thrust only added to the beatific vision on top of you.

Your climax had been steadily building but now you were teetering on that edge. Just a little bit more . . .

Matt must have sensed it somehow because his next thrust was slower but impossibly deep and hard. You gasped, your back arching. He did it again. Your body began to shake, toes curling . . . Close, you were so close . . .!

“Matty,” you whimpered.

“Let it go, sweetheart,” Matt grunted. “Cum on my cock.”

Another impossibly deep thrust and you did.

Matt groaned as your cunt gripped his cock tightly as you cried out his name. He never stopped moving, drawing out your orgasm until you were a babbling, shaking mess underneath him.

Only then did he start chasing his release. He pumped into you hard and fast, his entire world narrowed down to you. The delightful pain of your nails raking up and down his back. Your heart pounding in his ears. The guttural noises you made as he fucked you. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin, the wet squelch of your cunt as he moved in and out . . . you were so fucking wet. All for him. Because of him.

He wasn’t going to last much longer. Not with the way your cunt kept clamping down on his cock like a vice. Feeling his balls start to draw up, he tried to withdraw. He intended to release himself on your stomach. But you loudly protested, back arching and frantic hands grabbing his ass in a bid to him keep inside you.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you begged. “Please, don’t stop.”

“Gonna cum,” he managed to grit out.

Your hands only gripped his ass tighter. “Cum inside me. Wanna feel it.”

Truth. “Sweetheart.”

“Matty, please.”

That did it. He couldn’t resist your begging. With one last hard thrust, he buried his cock deep inside you and came.

Breathing hard, it was tempting to collapse on top on you. But he couldn’t. He was too heavy. He carefully pulled out of you and collapsed next to you. Still catching his breath, he gathered you in his arms, pressing your back against his chest. Perfect. Matt liked a good cuddle afterward. Didn’t understand what some men had against it. Your soft, naked body against his, smelling like sex and his pheromones? Yes, please.

For a moment, Matt attributed your little restless movements as simply getting comfortable. But quickly he realized that wasn’t entirely it. He reached between your legs. Felt you jolt when his fingers found your clit. Then moaned as he started rubbing gentle circles. You were already very sensitive. It didn’t take long for you to reach your peak again.

Matt buried his nose in the back of your neck. In a little while, he’d need to get up and get a washcloth. Clean up the mess he had made between your legs. But not right now. Right now, he was just going to enjoy having you in his arms.

The storm broke that night, after dumping almost ten feet of snow on the Big Apple. The powers that be had crews out clearing the streets and restoring downed power lines bright and early the next morning but it took several days to get the city fully up and running again.

You and Matt weren’t trapped in your apartment the entire time. Just a couple days. Despite the fact that neither of you were used to living with anyone, it was . . . comfortable. You cooked together in your tiny kitchen without much trouble. He did his share of the housework without prompting or complaint. You discovered during the brief power outage that, in addition to being a lie detector, Matt was a human furnace. Also that he was cuddler.

Once his phone was charged enough, Matt called Foggy and let him know that he wasn’t dead. He made Matt put him on speaker-phone so he could tell you both ‘I told you so.’ A sentiment echoed by Marci and Karen. Among many, many others.

The sex continued to be mind-blowing. And frequent. Because you both were having a hard time keeping your hands to yourselves. A shower became Matt fingering you, then fucking you against the wall. Watching a movie turned you kneeling between his legs, taking his cock into your mouth. Blissful Puddle was a very good look on him.

By time Daredevil slipped out of your window on the third night, your cunt had been given quite the workout and you had lost track of your orgasms.

Life went back to normal. Well, as normal as dating a vigilante could be. You worked. Matt saved people, in and out of the courtroom. You and Matt still went on your outgoings together, only with a lot more hand-holding and kissing. And often followed by enthusiastic sex in either your places or his. Matt quickly fulfilled his promise to introduce you to his silk sheets. You were very happy.

Tonight as you headed up to Matt’s apartment, you were filled with curiosity. Matt told you that he had a surprise. Then you reached his door, he pulled his usual trick of opening the door just as you raised your hand to knock. Just to make you jump.

“Having fun, Trouble?” you asked, entering the apartment.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” he denied. But his eyes were too filled with mirth to make his protests believable.

“Lie.”

His lips twitched. But you were distracted away from whatever smartass remark that was about to come out of his mouth by movement behind Matt. You looked and to your surprise, it was a cat. A little brown-and-gray tabby standing in front of the slightly ajar bedroom door, its tail curled into a question mark.

“When did you get a cat?”

“I didn’t,” Matt said. “You did.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, assuming you want her.” He smiled. “I promise this one wouldn’t turn into a vigilante.”

“Certain of that?” You asked. The question was only partially teasing. The recent events had only cemented your desire for another feline companion. But, as much as you were happy with how things had worked out, starting to get attached to a cat only to discover that you couldn’t keep it wasn’t fun.

“Very. According to my magic expert, she’s just a cat.”

You filed away ‘magic expert’ as something to pester him about later. “Where did you find her?”

“Dumpster,” Matt answered, his expression turning grim. “Inside a knotted pillowcase.”

You stared at him in horrified disbelief. Not at Matt’s story. You believed him. But at the sheer cruelty. You knew people could be cruel. You weren’t that naive. But it still shocked you.

“Someone actually did that?”

“They did.” His voice reflected the same anger, the same horror, you were feeling. “Not the first time I’ve found something like that. Wouldn’t be the last.”

He took a deep breath. Visibly reigned in his temper, saving it for the streets or the heavy bag. “Normally I take the animals to an all-night shelter but they’re full right now. They’d still find somewhere for her with one of their fosters or something . . . but I found this one by the same dumpster where you found me. So I thought, maybe it was a sign.”

You smiled. The cat redistribution system at work. And that was that. The cat was officially yours.

You named her Blizzard.

END NOTES

Gordian knot is a legendary knot that became a metaphor for an intractable problem solved by bold stroke. Or in this particular case, one which Matt and Foggy dearly wish they could solve with one bold stroke.

That red light/red lenses thing comes from Wikipedia so treat it with the appropriate level of skepticism.

In Nelson vs Murdock, Foggy had every right to be hurt and angry with Matt. But even if it was deserved, doesn’t make what he said less painful to Matt. Personally, I think Foggy had hit that point of angry-hurt where you just want the other person to feel as badly as you do. And since Foggy is Matt’s best friend, he knows exactly which words will hurt the most. Moreover, I think he was too upset that tonight to really absorb Matt’s explanation about his senses. Hence some of his caustic comments during Season 2.

I have no proof that this incarnation of Matt has ever worn a beard. But shh, we’re having fun here.

It is my understanding that New York City during August is not only hot but miserably humid.

[whateverisbeautiful]

♥️Reveling in Richonne - TOWL

#1: The Hand (1.01)

The level of excitement, anxiety, joy, and anticipation I felt just before pressing play on the TOWL premiere was so high. My Richonne was finally coming back. 🥹 And man did they just snatch my heart for an entire hour with their return. I already knew seeing them again would be euphoric, but it was even more than I could have guessed. And the TOWL premiere dives right in with a very emotional, wild, and impactful first few minutes...

When deciding on a deadline for having these RIR: Towl Edition posts ready, I figured today, July 22, would be a great kickoff day since it's the anniversary of when The Ones Who Live was first announced at SDCC. 👌🏽😊

I remember where I was the day I first saw the TOWL announcement in 2022. I was in the middle of moving to a new place and saw an article pop up on my phone with a picture of Andy and Danai hand in hand at Comic-Con. I was just happy to see them.

And then I looked down at the article’s headline and saw they were there to announce that there would be a Rick and Michonne miniseries. 🤩 I was already overjoyed by that, but then, my joy just skyrocketed even more when I saw that they were coming back specifically for a miniseries focused on Rick and Michonne’s “epic love story” with Andy, Danai, and Scott as co-creators and executive producers. 😍

I knew we were about to have an absolute feast with this show our captains cooked up - and feast we most certainly did. This 6 episode miniseries is a six-course meal. 🍽

And I think TOWL is excellent on its own and has a lot of widespread appeal but when I’ve seen people say The Ones Who Live felt like it was particularly for the Richonne fans, there’s also a very clear explanation for that: the show was made by three Richonne fans. Scott, Andy, and Danai…they’re us. 😋

And I am so grateful to them for the beautiful gift that is The Ones Who Live. 😌

So this first post is a bit longer because I gotta come out the gate extra and even offer up some thoughts on the TWD clips that they included just before the premiere starts. I really liked how it sets up TOWL and highlights the power of Richonne’s relationship. 

They start by showing the iconic pilot shot of Rick on his horse riding along the barren side of a freeway as we hear his voice say, “We tell ourselves we are the walking dead.”

And then they include the iconic shot of Michonne’s TWD entrance from season 2.

They then show a clip from season 6, just a few episodes before Richonne would be canon. In the clip, Michonne is on the patio with Rick (and his elevator eyes) as she helps him see, “We’re in here together.”

I love this because in reminding Rick that they’re alive and breathing right here and now and have the room to make ASZ home it shows how Michonne was the one who helped change Rick’s motto from “We’re the walking dead” to “We’re the ones who live.” It’s one of the many ways she changed his life. 😌

They show some Say Yes moments, and you know I love that Richonne episode down. Seeing them use clips from the beloved 7.12, I remember just marveling over how years ago we were so excited just to get a single episode focused on Richonne and now we were gearing up to watch a whole miniseries dedicated to them. 🥰 Never getting over that blessing.

Rick says, “We’re gonna lose people, maybe even each other” as the clip ushers in its first gut punch of the hour by showing Rick and Michonne at their son Carl’s side after he reveals he’s been bit. 🥺

They also show Rick telling Michonne “You can lose me” in the Say Yes van and her saying “No.” We’ll talk about it more in a later post, but just as many of us suspected - Richonne cannot in fact lose each other and live on the same. While losing each other is and was physically possible, in every other way losing each other made them lose the most crucial parts of themselves.

Then they show Rick in his final TWD ep, preparing to blow up the bridge as his voiceover tells Michonne “If it’s me who doesn’t make it, you’re gonna have to lead the others forward because you’re the one who can.”

We see Michonne scream his name as Rick blows up the bridge and then they show our sweet older Judith as Rick says “Making a future for Judith, it’ll be worth it.” And I always love that 9.05 shot of Judith because of how it incorporates Rick, Carl, and Michonne with the holster, hat, and sword on her back. She along with RJ is an embodiment of their legacy and the future Richonne believed in.

Then they show Michonne slaying a walker as she says “We can make it. I’m not giving up.” And it just all really hammers home the resilience of Richonne and their love and partnership. They’ve been through so much, built so much, and lost so much, but they still stand because of each other and the family they created. 

After they give us some CRM insight with clips of Jadis (😒), they show scenes of Michonne and Judith’s last conversation where they both decide Michonne will go and look for The Brave Man. I’m glad they included that because some viewers really tend to forget that Judith urged her mom to go look for her dad and Michonne left not as an act of abandonment, but as the ultimate act of love for her family.

The TWD clips ends with Michonne saying “Okay baby girl I’m gonna try” and Judith saying “Go get him.” I love that even with everyone else thinking they were crazy, Michonne and Judith never stopped believing Rick was out there. (And RJ was believing too. 🥹 But I'm getting way ahead of myself lol)

And then --- the show we’ve all been waiting for begins and the TOWL premiere has a devastatingly poignant teaser. 🥺

I like how The Ones Who Live's opener connects to the last of the TWD clips because Michonne tells her baby girl she’s gonna try and then we hear Rick’s voice start the show by saying, “I tried. Please know I tried.”

It moves me how much Rick and Michonne have been trying for each other while apart. And it’s crushing to hear Rick say 'tried' in the past tense as he now debates no longer trying anymore since he's learned he can’t be with his family again or else risk putting them in harm's way.

After years of waiting to finally see what Rick has been up to all this time, they immediately let us know it has been an excruciatingly painful existence for him without his family. 😢

gif cred: @perryabbott

I like how the shot opens with Rick facing away from the camera as he stares out the window at a cold industrial view. Rick facing away from us almost gives this sense that we know him but we also don’t fully know him anymore. He’s been through a lot we haven’t seen.

The vintage TV delivers news of a massive attack in the background and similar to the destruction on the television, Rick also feels destroyed by the CRM and at his lowest here. 

gif cred: @nerd4music

Then I love how before we even see Rick's face, we see him holding one of his phone sketches of Michonne. This show did a great job of immediately setting up the way Richonne’s love would be at the center of every scene in this story.

This shot of Michonne on the phone let you know instantly that the love between Richonne is still so alive and important to Rick and the miniseries. It’s also painful because it’s like Rick is finally accepting that those little drawings really could be the last he ever gets to “see” her after fighting so hard to believe he would see her again for real one day. 

And it’s very symbolic to have him look at Michonne on the phone and then see his own reflection in it. They’re one. It’s also significant that the first we see of Rick’s face is through a reflection. Again he’s him, but he’s not fully him rn. Just a reflection. And the part of him he misses most is his other half - Michonne. 

gif cred: @richonne4life

One of the tragic aspects of these two soulmates being separated for so long is that Rick and Michonne were not the type of couple who needed absence to make the heart grow fonder. Like they didn’t need to lose each other to realize how special their love was. When they were together they were fully aware of the gift their relationship was in their lives and they treasured their love deeply and out loud.

So being apart has only heightened what Rick and Michonne already knew full well which is that they are the love of each other's lives. They’re everything to each other. They knew it back then. And they know it still now, even after being away from each other longer than they’ve been together. 

It’s such a big deal for Rick to look at this phone in this moment as he contemplates ending it. I noticed that anytime Rick thinks he’s about to die, he thinks of Michonne. It's as though he’s eager for his last moment of life and his last thought to be of her so that he can end on some semblance of a positive note.

When he’s on the bridge in TWD 9.05, Michonne is his last hallucination. When he later chops off his hand and fades out of consciousness he dreams of her. And here when he contemplates dying by his own hand, he looks at this image of her just before. It makes me think of that TikTok that went viral about a man saying his last breath will be his wife’s name. That is definitely Rick’s mindset and I love that Richonne’s love runs that deep. 

Rick looks out with tears in his eyes - just sadness personified - and then he stares at the shard of glass in his hand, contemplative, before putting the glass to his neck. The acting Andy does in this moment is incredibly powerful and painful. I know award shows disappointingly tend to completely sleep on the performances from the TWD cast but truly to me he secured every award nomination just within his first few seconds of being on screen.

There’s something so viscerally vulnerable about this moment as Rick stares at the glass really wondering if after everything he’s been through and overcome, it’s really come to this - meeting his demise by his own hand with a little piece of glass.

Plus with how resilient Rick is, it’s like we see this massive internal fight to go against everything in him that’s a survivor and actively choose to stop surviving once and for all.

My heart just instantly broke from this teaser because while yes we know Rick won’t go through with it, to know that he was even in the headspace of this makes me hurt for him deeply. To think he was ready to potentially just go out, alone, depressed, never seeing his family again and them never knowing he was out there, feeling like a failure. It’s extremely dark.

gif cred: @vidco

Throughout his time on TWD, Rick’s journey has been as much a mental battle as it has been an external battle and as we saw in the TWD pilot, Rick is extremely perseverant but without his family, he is not opposed to just ending it.

And now, he's tried so hard for so many years to get back to Michonne and Judith, he stayed alive off the memory of family and the hope of being with family again - But once he realized it was no longer an option unless he risked putting the ones he loves in immense danger, that was it for him. In this moment he no longer sees the point in living if he has to live without his wife and daughter. 🥺

I found it powerfully poignant to have a show called The Ones Who Live begin by having Rick about to take his life. It shows that for Rick, there’s an asterisk on that motto because he feels he’s only 'the one who lives' if he gets to live with Michonne. It’s either ‘the ones who live together’ or nothing at all for Rick. 

So he nearly goes through with this attempt. Even draws some blood on his neck...but then he stops. Thank goodness. 🙏🏽 He sucks his teeth and sighs as he stares at the shard of glass looking defeated but also resolved that he can’t go through with it. Not like this.

Through this teaser, we instantly get his state of mind. He can’t end it all but he’s been in so much pain that it feels like the only way through is to die. It’s utterly tragic. 🥺

And I truly feel like part of why Rick couldn’t go through with it is because he and Michonne genuinely are one. So his life is not just his to take.

So long as Michonne is still out there and her heart is still beating then his heart still has to beat too, even if he has to die in other ways to somehow go on without her. We’ll also learn more about why he doesn’t go through with it in his heartbreakingly romantic last letter to Michonne, but we’ll get there. 👌🏽

So then we see the back of Rick again as he ends the night accepting his dreary fate to live but truly as the walking dead from now on. And I really like how the show explores the dark and damaging side of having to tell yourself you’re the walking dead. As well as the dark side of being 'the one who lives' even when everything in you wants to quit living because now you have to live without those you love.

When Rick gave the speech about his grandpa and them being the Walking Dead in TWD 5.10, Daryl responded saying, “We ain’t them.” Rick agreed with that because so long as you have family you aren’t the Walking Dead.

But that’s the thing - Rick hasn’t had his family for years and so he really did have to become the Walking Dead. But as he’ll say at the end of the series (jumping way ahead again, I know lol) he thought he was alone, but he wasn’t. His kids and wife especially were still believing in him and still loving him out there.

I like to think that just like Michonne could feel Rick out there with all the love he was emitting from afar toward her, Rick too could feel all the love she was emitting to him and it kept him here a bit longer. And thank goodness for that because my beloved Rick Grimes' story deserves a bright positive ending, not one this dark and depressing, after everything he's been through. 

As the teaser ends and Rick stares into the CRM void, I like the score. The music almost feels like a menacing weighed-down heartbeat which is fitting.

And then there's the beautiful title sequence, which I adore the music and every Richonne image during the theme song. I like how it starts with Rick and Michonne in each other's arms from season 8, letting you know that while the teaser was very dark, there is light coming and that light is called Richonne.

(Also, I really wanted Rick to see Michonne in her corset armor during the show but since he didn’t, I’m glad there’s at least a gorgeous image of the two of them together during the theme song that includes her in the armor.)

I also liked the way the first ep just shows Rick under the title since it’s a Rick-centric episode and then the second episode has just Michonne under the title for the Michonne-centric episode. All and all, this whole opener was a very impactful way to kick off the show and set the tone for what Rick has been through and become in the years he's been away.

All the chatter from certain parts of the audience who thought Rick would move on and even have a new family in the Civic Republic was immediately dispelled because those speculations were always a ridiculous misunderstanding of the character. He found his everything in Michonne so of course he’s still as in love with her now as he was the day we last saw them together in season 9. Just like Michonne still stayed in love with him.

I love that they both refused to move on from each other and operated as in love as ever. And because they held onto that love, even when it felt like all was lost, that love was able to return to them. 👌🏽

So next, we get into some action as we’re taken to 5 years after the bridge. We see Rick and his iconic walk as he stands in the forest with other consignees. And it was such a joy to see him back on screen and know we were finally going to get the continuation of his story. 🙌🏽

gif cred: @vidco

Rick holds a CRM hatchet, which also feels symbolic because it’s similar to one of his signature TWD weapons, but it’s marked by the CRM showing they’ve in many ways attempted to claim him. 

Rick is also the only consignee with a leash, clearly illustrating that he’s a lil different than the rest. He’s the one who doesn’t want to be here and will try to escape if given the chance and the CRM knows this about him. Along with attempting to claim him, this leash makes it feel like the CRM is also attempting to tame him like he's a defiant animal.

gif cred: @nerd4music

As Rick looks around and takes a breath you can tell he’s fully made up his mind about what he’s about to do with his most extreme escape attempt yet.

gif cred: @andy-clutterbuck

Rick runs to take out walkers and again seeing him back in action is such a sight for sore eyes. He’s still got it. 👌🏽 However, because he looks all healthy and strong I think some can miss that Rick is still very much in mental disarray from battling the psychological torment of being taken and trapped all these years. Like he might look normal and fine (and I do mean that in all the ways 😇) but he's not mentally healthy right now.

(Side note: I really love the look of this whole night scene with the deep blues and fiery reds. The budget was doing its thing in TOWL. 👏🏽🔥)

gif cred: @nerd4music

So Rick runs far enough that the leash pulls him to the ground. A soldier yells at him and he says “Sorry. Trying to find my axe.” Look at our cute little liar. 😋

And then the show gets right into the wildness by having Rick put a belt around his arm and proceed to chop off his own hand. It’s insane😳.

It's also very reminiscent of when Negan nearly made Rick chop off Carl’s arm in the season 7 premiere. Chopping his own hand off in these woods was more doable for Rick than had he had to chop off Carl’s arm because it’s his family he cares about far more than himself.

As Rick prepares to do the chop he repeats “This is how” as in this is how he gets home. It hurts my heart that he feels this is the only way.🥺

But it's really moving to see that he’s willing to do something this intense to get back to his love. Also, this is 5 years after the bridge, so this means that even a half a decade later Rick was still as determined as ever to break free and get back to Michonne.

The people I watch with and I had a whole discussion on whether chopping the hand the way he did was daftly executed by the show considering it’s such an extreme thing to do in this situation where Rick was never going to successfully get away bleeding out like that with CRM soldiers so close by.

But my argument was that the 'ill-thought-out' element of this escape plan is part of the point.

For 5 years atp, Rick has been isolated from all love and warmth and is deteriorating mentally day by day. In this extremely damaged state, he’s not thinking straight, and cutting off his hand is a last-ditch effort that shows he will try absolutely anything, sound or unsound, to get back to Michonne and Judith.

Yes, he possibly could have just cut off the thumb or hacked at the leash but the extreme approach Rick took also conveys that he’s not all there right now and he’s as desperate as he’s ever been to finally break free and go home. It also informs us that his more sane escape attempts haven't worked and so now Rick Grimes is willing to try the insane stuff to get back to his family.

Think about the mindset he has to be in to go against natural human instinct and chop off his own hand. It’s crazy, but it immediately lets us know that even the most impractical solutions are now what it’s come to for him. 

gif cred: @nat111love

So basically, if it seems super reckless for him to do it this way, that’s the intention imo. He’s so worn down and off mentally from his debilitating circumstances that he’ll do anything whether it’s the wise thing or not, he doesn’t care anymore. Anything to get back to her.

The traditional saying is 'asking for her hand in marriage,' but here we see Rick, the ultimate lover boy, be like 'What if I literally give my hand for my marriage.' If there’s one thing TOWL made perfectly clear it’s that Rick and Michonne have crazy love. 💯

And while yes his escape plan could have been more thought through, my baby Rick did show some smart thinking by putting the ax in the fire to make the chop easier so you gotta give him that. 😌👌🏽

After he cuts off his hand this horror music plays as Rick proceeds to make a run for it. He has to lean behind a tree dazed as he bleeds profusely.

It’s crazy because the last time we saw Rick in a full episode of TWD he was bleeding out and now here he is intensely injured again and going through the wringer. I was so eager for whenever this man would finally get some much-deserved rest. 

gif cred: @twdfranchise

Rick then has the strength to take out a walker and cauterize the wound by plunging his arm into the fire inside it. This whole thing was an effective way to show early that one; Rick is built different and two; this man will endure literally anything to get home. And home is very much not a place but his wife and daughter.

So then he tries to make a run for it as CRM soldiers near closer and I honestly think with this being his fourth escape attempt this was really a “go home or die trying" attempt. Like I think Rick knew that dying tonight was a very real possibility.

The soldiers knock Rick down and he lays on the ground defeated and drained as he stares at the burning corpse of a walker that’s certainly meant to reflect how he feels as well. Almost like the burning desire to go home has officially consumed him and taken him out.

Feeling like a corpse himself, Rick fades out of consciousness as soldiers approach. And then we get to enter Rick’s lovely mind and see where he goes when at his wit's end.

And y’all, these first two TOWL scenes to analyze were pretty hefty, dark, and depressing, so it’s time we get to something lighter and happier to dive into. And what’s better and brighter than Rick’s beautiful dream world with his beautiful dream girl? 😌👌🏽🌟

[eri-pl]

Nostos,

or TIL it is a thing, but it explains many things about the Silm.

So. The Ancient Greeks had a word for a very particular kind of returning home. If you don't want to read the whole Wikipedia page, I'll recap: Nostos is

a hero returning (often from a victorious war)

usually by the sea, a long journey with many troubles

focus also on reclaiming his place at home (Odysseus!!!)

also, managing to return = fame and glory

OK, so. Tolkien. I'm sure he knew well and loved this concept.

Earendil is basically this, but split between two/three people: Turgon -[Idril, but she's female, so no cool deeds for her :( ] - Earendil. His journey to Valinor has the exact kind of trials that a nostos should have from what I understand. He's like… this trope but for the whole Noldor nation. In a way. [They do not return after a victorious war, because we're doing a deconstruction of a trope, not just using it straight. Also the Noldor can't look too cool, because of their bad choices.]

Also, this explains why Tolkien didn't let any of the Feanorians return, or anyone important at all, except Galadriel. Because a man returning from a war through the sea = he is cool and heroic. And kinslayers are not cool, and the flight of the Noldor was generally uncool.

I'm sure this is a beloved trope of Númenorean literature at some point BTW (Also, Pharazôn would have an epic of his glorious return written in advance, before he sailed to attack Valinor, he seems like this kind of guy.)

Elendil is like the antithesis of this, but still positive. He does not return home (but he does, Men were never meant to live so far West, tbh nobody was but let's not complain about that here), he is not victorious after a war (but he is, nor all wars are literal), he does reclaim his place in a way. And the sea is there, but the road is quick and dramatic, not meandering. Of course it is, because they get a lift.

A whole book subtitled "there and back again", and I think it checks all of the boxes except "the sea" (well ok, the hero is not very traditional, but still it is a very proper nostos)

Also also I don't really get the appeal of it, maybe that's why I don't vibe with some parts of the Silm (sorry Tuor, you're boring). I like the sea, sailing can be fun, but I don't get the epic mariner idea. I just don't. I guess it's a personal preference thing.

Oh, the tension between "returning home in well-earned glory" and "returning home with an apology", it is very present in the Silm. (Even if usually the return home is via the Halls of Mandos).

The tension between "I deserve the praise, because the road was so twisted and hard", and "I got lost, I'm glad to be back", and all those tensions. And I feel like with the Noldor as a group, Tolkien wanted both (see: Feanor's cool reply to Manwë's messenger, but also all the disasters that come later).

How does this all tie to the Silmarils? I'm sure that what Feanor expected, what his sons expected initially was "we fight a war, we get our jewels, we do a classical nostos [even if we don't know this term]". But also, for me, the Silmarils themselves tie to the concept of home very strongly, and nostalgia— oh, how ironic it is that nostalgia means "pain for returning home", and their nostos was supposed to be brought upon by reclaiming the Silmarils and they brought them only pain, and no clear homecomings.

Also, this is not related etymologically, but I can't avoid thinking of how "nostos" sounds like it was cognate to "nest" and how baby birds are at some point supposed to leave it and never return.

I'm sure there's more to be found in here, and probably some wise people already said more about it.

[@stellavesperis, this is this post that goes earlier]

[attollogame]

March and the status of Attollo

Hi everyone!

This was posted on patreon, but I thought to extend it on the blog as well for transparency purposes for everyone. If you clicked the read more to check this out, thanks, and glad you're still kicking around!

March consisted of me jumping in and out of medical care for the bulk of the month, and despite the armada of pills and specialists I'm hanging around with in my free time, answers have been nonexistent about what's been going on. I'm tired—understandably so.

So what's this got to do with the game?

Beyond just feeling too tired to do what's required of me for work and school, I've been weirdly anxious about the game in general. I think it's based around comments I received in the past about how the game is, what people's opinions are, etc. I've been genuinely sick to my stomach opening my doc containing the game. I just start writing and then it's like... will people even like this? Or read it? Is it just jargon that they'll skim past for 5 seconds of dialogue with a character they like, and then never touch again? Is it worth putting the lore and stuff when it won't be relevant until later in the game? And so on.

I don't know. It's been a bit of a hole. I'm wondering if maybe I need to rewrite it to make it more appealing, or if it's fine as it is, and all these other anxieties that have by no means been helping my health. I want to write, and maybe that's the worse bit. The want versus the brains refusal to do so.

Anyway. None of this particularly matters, because you guys are mostly keen on when it'll be updated. It will—I'm plugging through it slowly. I originally said I'd post the three on patreon and then bulk release, but I may just post on patreon and then release as the new routes come out as a form of apology for my inability to keep a consistent schedule.

Unfortunately, real life demands often take away from fun side hobbies like this.

I reactivated patreon for this month so hopefully I'll have some new content to post on there as well to kind of... rebuild the confidence about the game.

That being said, I do hope you (the lovely person who has read this far) are doing well. I hope you're healthy, and stress free, and enjoying month 4 of 2024. Stay that way for me, will you?

[mika-no-sekai-blog]

With the last breath

Word count: 1577

Warnings: depression, suicide attempt

Part II

At first, I'm sorry for my English. It isn't my native language, so there are mistakes and maybe it wouldn't give sense. Writing this was a real challenge and it showed me my (language) limits😅

For the first actual fanfiction I post here I'd say it's quite dark. I wrote it after fight with husband as kind of distraction. Well, it served its purpose.

Declaration: I write just for fun✌️

One day you were on a way to deliver some documents to Rhysand. He sent a request to the library to look for certain information he urgently needed and when everything he asked for was collected, Clotho asked you to deliver it to him. As the only person who from time to time didn't mind to go out, you had a good relationship him and knew all of the members of the inner circle. You often worked with them and helped them as you knew the library so well as the back of your hand.

Entering the River House you headed to his office. Clotho had sent him a notice of your visit early in the morning, so you knew where to look for him. As you approached the office door you could hear his voice and the voices of two other males. He was there together with his brothers standing around the table with maps and papers on it and discussing something important. You didn't want to disturb them, so you silently walked through the open door and set the documents on a small table right next to the door. Spymaster's eyes met yours for a second as he was the only one facing the door and he noticed the movement. Finding out it's you, as usually, he lost interest and returned to whatever they were looking at together. Rhys noticed his eyes went up and he also turned to you with a big, kind smile.

„Is that the information I asked for?“

„Yeah, it should be all. I checked it several times to make sure,“ you whispered silently, but he heard you.

„Would you mind to stay for lunch since you've come this far? It would be just three of us, Feyre and Elain,“ Rhys invited you.

Your eyes hastily darted to Azriel. His jaw slightly tightened, but you didn't miss that small move. „I'm afraid I need to return back..“ you tried to smile little.

„Are you already going back? Don't you need escort?“ Cassian turned to you too, offering help.

He and Rhys were kind to you and seemed to be happy to see you whenever you met them. Rhys always asked you to join a meal with his family and sometimes you'd accept it. On the other hand, Spymaster has never bothered to treat you with more than a short look or few casual phrases at the best. Even though he didn't seem to be really fond of you, he tended to sit next to you on a sofa or hold a seat for you next to him at the table. But it was a long time ago. Maybe he noticed you eyeing him with interest and that was the reason his behaviour changed over the years from 'I can tolerate you' to 'such a nuisance'. He personally didn't do nor say anything bad to you. But you could feel it from him somehow. You hadn't much of magic in your blood, but you was able to read any subtle signs and understand how people around you feel. That's the reason you stopped accepting invitations and tried to cross his path as little as possible. In the moments like this it was impossible to avoid meeting him and he seemed to be fine with it, paying you minimum attention. But as soon as somebody asked you to join them for a meal or evening, you could feel a slight discomfort from him. You tried to brush it away, but still it hurt.

When you met him for the first time you were afraid of him. As you got to know inner circle better, you learnt there's actually nothing scary about him and that deep down he is a very kind person. His silent, calm and caring nature appealed to you and before you noticed you fell in love with him. You couldn't help it even though you knew you don't have any chance. Masking it as best as you could, you decided to suffer in silence. You knew about his feeling toward Mor and when Archeron sisters entered your lives you noticed his shift of interest to Elain too. You weren't ugly, but there was no way you could compete with such beauties as the two of them. And you were well aware of that. That's why you've never tried to approach him and talk to him properly and after feeling a kind of discomfort from him in your presence, you tried to keep your distance and avoid him.

You excused yourself as fast as you could and turned around to leave. When you were sure that Rhys and Cass turned back to the table, you allowed yourself a single glance to him over your shoulder. His features were relaxed. He was so painfully beautiful that tears welled up in your eyes and the painful hole in your chest got little bigger.

After meeting him you needed some time to calm down and bury those feelings back so deep that nobody could notice them. You were walking around the city till you were sure you regained your peace. And just then you decided to head back to the library.

When you were climbing up the stairs you heard some muffled voices. You've never spied on other people, but this time you couldn't resist it and peaked to the hall to see who could it be. And there you saw them. Azriel stood with his back against the wall, Elain standing on her tiptoes with arms around his neck leaning into him. They started to kiss, slowly at first, but soon enough their passion took over. You couldn't stand it. Tears stinging your eyes once again, you left as silently as possible. When you were far from them and they couldn't hear you anymore, you run to your room as fast as you could. Closing the door you slid down to the ground unable to stifle your sobs. Knowing he has a thing for somebody else wasn't as painful as to actually see them together. It utterly broke your heart leaving you unable to breathe properly. Your life was pretty simple, you didn't have much. Your love for that male and a little faith you held were basically all you had left and the scene you witnessed totally crushed it all.

It took you hours until you calmed down enough to be able to stand up. You opened the door. You didn't know where to go, but you couldn't stand to be here anymore. Your legs took over the control, marching on their own. Suddenly you found yourself on one of the balconies heavily leaning on the railing. You slightly leaned over the edge looking down. The balcony was so high it made you nauseous. You pulled back to the safety. Spending most of the time in the library you've never gave much thoughts to heights at which you lived. You just occasionally had chance to stop and look out the window. Carefully you sat up on the railing back facing outwards. You tried to take deep breaths to calm down, to get through the pain and the shock. You tilted your head back watching floating clouds. As child you spent hours lying in the grass and watching clouds. It used to be so relaxing, but now you felt nothing, except emptiness. There was a bird flying high above you. You sighed. How beautiful it would be if you could fly. You'd took off flying far from this place, far from these people, far from him. What it must be like to feel so free and weightless. If you lean back little more, you could find out. It would be so nice to fly down, to never have to feel anything anymore. You knew you should be scared to even think about such things, but instead you felt numb.

 The bird was getting bigger as it flew closer. You closed eyes and leaned back more and more. Suddenly you felt so light, flying like that bird. Small smile formed on your lips and you stretched out arms like wings.

Azriel was flying back to the House of Wind when he noticed somebody leaning dangerously on the edge of railing on one of the highest balconies. It was strange, but he was tired so at first he didn't pay much attention to it. He looked away just for a moment and the person disappeared. His throat tightened. He immediately plunged headlong down, but he wasn't fast enough. The person was only few meters away from a certain death. He had to winnow. Stepping into shadows he reappeared few foots bellow the person stretching out arms to catch... HER! There was no doubt. It was Y/N. What happened? Why would she do something so horrible? What if he tries to catch her, but she slips through his hands and dies? He'd never been so scared in his entire life. If something were to happen to her, he'd never forgive himself. All sounds of the world disappeared, he could hear only own heart racing in his chest. It took just mere seconds, but it seemed to take forever. The moment her body collided with his, the time had stopped. He squeezed his eyes, muscles tensing, wings spreading to stop their fall.

When he finally dared to open his eyes, there she was safe in his arms, pressed to his chest. He breathed a sigh of relief.