#season 2 is sooo much better than season 1

[foreveranevilregal]

British Traitors really coming through to save the day and give me what I wanted from American Traitors.

[daryltwdixon]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 4.5 | Part 5

Summary: Neither you or Joel had realized the fallout of facing each other after trying for a baby—something that never would have happened if Tommy could have given you one himself. And when the first time doesn't stick, you're back at Joel's door, asking for another favor.

|| smut MNDI 18+, pinv, f!receiving oral, dirty talk, no outbreak, not cheating but still def not kosher!!! don't do this!!!, breeding kink, rule breaking, baby making, talk of infertility, joel is absolutely filthy when he's turned on what can I say || notes: Tommy, hunny, if you're reading this, im sorry. im sure you're great in bed. im sorry this got so long!!! I was hella sick the past couple days and mightve wrote this with a fever sooo

You hadn’t meant for it to change anything.

In the days after the first time you… tried with Joel, you hadn’t really spoken to him. He’d left in a hurry, barely looking at you as he pulled his clothes back on, and you’d been too drunk on the aftershocks of what was possibly the best orgasm of your life to really think about what came next. Not until the hours stretched into days, and the reality of what you’d done started to settle in.

Now, standing by the pool in the thick, hazy heat of late summer, you realized just how weird it was going to be when you saw him again.

It was Frankie’s birthday, the last big cookout of the season—an annual thing the Morales family threw without fail, and especially this year with Marie now expecting their first baby. The beer was always cold, there was always too much food, and the night always ended with everyone gathered around the fire pit, full and tipsy and laughing. You’d been coming to these parties for years, always bringing appetizers, just as the Miller brothers always brought the beer. It was tradition. Comfortable.

Except this time, nothing felt comfortable at all.

You were in your string bikini, your loose, sheer cover-up thrown over the lounge chair you inhabited, still slick from the last dip in the pool. The air smelled like sunscreen and charcoal smoke, the buzz of cicadas tangled with the sound of splashing and distant laughter. You had just grabbed your drink from the poolside table when movement caught your eye.

Joel.

He was stepping into the backyard, a case of Miller Lite hooked in one hand, his other hand pushing through his hair. He looked good—annoyingly good—worn jeans hanging low on his hips, t-shirt stretched across broad shoulders, sunglasses tucked into the collar. He scanned the crowd until his gaze landed on you.

Your breath hitched. Not because of him—of course not—but because the moment stretched just a little too long.

And then Tommy turned, sitting next to you with an easy, unaware grin, and Joel’s eyes flicked to his brother like he’d just been caught red-handed. He gave an awkward nod—more of a grunt than a greeting—before turning on his heel and heading straight for the house.

You flushed.

Right. This was going to be weird.

Tommy laughed, like he hadn’t noticed the way you went red beside him. He leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before getting to his feet. “Guess I better go say a proper hello before he drinks all the beer himself.”

And just like that, he strolled off, leaving you sitting there, drink in hand, watching the back door swing shut behind Joel.

The sun was starting to dip lower, stretching long golden streaks over the yard, and you were starting to feel it—the kind of lazy, sun-drenched exhaustion that came from too much heat, too much pool water, maybe one drink too many. The party was still going strong, laughter rising over the music, but you were more than happy to hover near the patio with a few of the other wives in the shade.

You hadn’t seen much of Joel.

Every now and then, you’d catch a glimpse—his broad shoulders making their way through the small crowd, the sound of his laughter, the sun catching in his hair—but he never seemed to linger anywhere long. It was like he was playing some kind of unspoken game, orbiting close enough that you were aware of him but never so close that you had to speak.

Which was fine.

It was fine.

You were definitely not hyper-aware of him. Not tracking his presence without meaning to. Not letting the memory of the filthy things he said to you crawl into your head every time you glimpsed those big, soulful eyes.

You exhaled, shaking the thought loose just as Marie called your name. She stood at the grill next to her husband who was flipping burgers, her hands full of side dishes that had to be put out for dinner.

"Can you grab the potato salad from the fridge?" she asked, nodding toward the house. "I meant to bring it out, but my hands are too full!"

"Yeah, of course," you said, already stepping toward the back door.

The second you slipped inside, the air-conditioning cooled the heat still clinging to your skin, the quiet settling heavy after the constant hum of the party outside. It felt nice. Like taking a breath you hadn’t realized you needed.

The house was mostly empty, everyone still out in the yard, and for a brief moment, you let yourself just enjoy the quiet. Then you stepped into the kitchen and saw him.

He was standing near the counter, one hand braced on the edge, the other loose around a beer as he looked out the kitchen window into the yard. His shoulders tensed when he heard you, but he didn’t turn, just flicked his gaze toward the fridge like that was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

Joel.

You ignored the way your pulse kicked up, forcing yourself to be normal. Chill. 

“Hey,” you said, casual, like this was fine. Just another Saturday afternoon.

Joel nodded once, barely glancing at you. “Hey.”

Oookay.

You moved toward the fridge, opening it and scanning the shelves. “Just need to grab something for Marie,” you said, reaching for the container of potato salad.

Joel exhaled, shifting to the side so you had more room, but he still didn’t look at you. His grip flexed around his beer, his jaw tight like he was concentrating very hard on ignoring you.

Fine.

Grabbing the container, you shut the fridge and turned to leave, but you found yourself hesitating.

You sighed, shifting your grip on the bowl before turning back around. “It doesn’t have to be like this, you know.”

Joel’s head lifted slightly, like he hadn’t expected you to say anything. “Like what?”

“This.” You gestured vaguely between the two of you. “The awkward. The avoiding.” You paused, tilting your head. “You can’t even look at me.”

He blinked, caught off guard, before his eyes flicked to yours—quick, hesitant. “I’m lookin’ at you right now.”

You huffed out a small, dry laugh. “Yeah. For the first time all day.”

He shifted on his feet, looking uncomfortable, his fingers tapping once against the beer bottle. “Ain’t avoidin’ you.”

You lifted an eyebrow.

Joel sighed through his nose, glancing at the floor before dragging a hand down his face. “Alright,” he admitted, “maybe a little.”

You crossed your arms, letting that hang in the air for a second.

Joel took a long breath like he was trying to collect his thoughts. Then he finally—finally—looked at you, really looked at you, with something almost hesitant in his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said, low but firm. “You’re right.”

Your arms loosened slightly, tension easing just a fraction. “I do that a lot.”

Joel huffed a little laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah.”

Joel’s eyes flicked down—quick, instinctive, before he caught himself and looked away. But not fast enough. You saw it.

The humidity outside had been enough to keep you from throwing your cover-up back on after the pool, but now, standing here in the cool dim light of the kitchen, it felt like a mistake. The shift in temperature sent a shiver across your skin, every inch of you laid bare in nothing but damp, clinging fabric. You knew this bikini was thin but damn your nipples for hardening in the sudden cool air. Water still beaded along your collarbone, trailing in slow, lazy rivulets down your stomach, disappearing beneath the tiny scraps of your bikini.

And it seemed like Joel was very aware of these things as well.

You weren’t sure if he swallowed, but you thought you saw his jaw go tight. Then, just as fast, he looked away.

Something curled low in your stomach. Was he thinking about that night, too?

Not supposed to. That was Rule #2.

Not supposed to think about it. Not supposed to talk about it outside the four walls of your bedroom.

Joel cleared his throat. “You feelin’ alright and all?”

You blinked, pulled from your thoughts. “What?”

His fingers tightened around his beer bottle. “Any signs yet?”

Oh.

You shifted your weight, trying to collect yourself. “No. Won’t know for a few more days. Won’t show up on a test yet.”

Joel nodded, looking thoughtful, like that was news to him. His gaze flicked downward again—this time, toward your stomach.

“Did Tommy not tell you that part?” you asked, amused despite yourself.

His mouth twitched. “Not exactly.”

You smirked. “You mean you didn’t ask.”

Joel scoffed, almost like a chuckle, shaking his head. “Wasn’t exactly a conversation I was rushin’ to have with my brother. Haven’t… had to think about this stuff in 15 years.”

That made you laugh—a soft, breathy thing—and just like that, something tilted in the air between you.

The tension didn’t go away. It just… changed.

Joel was still standing where he was, but now it felt like he was closer, and he was even smiling a little bit.

Maybe you were the one who had stepped closer.

You weren’t sure when it had happened, when the space had shrunk, but suddenly, it wasn’t enough. The air between you was buzzing, and you could feel his presence—solid, warm, steady across from you.

Joel’s fingers flexed once against the counter. His gaze flicked down again—quick, but not quick enough.

This time, when his eyes met yours, he didn’t immediately look away.

And neither did you.

The kitchen was quiet.

Not just in the absence of sound, but in the way the air felt thick, in the way neither of you spoke, in the way neither of you moved.

But you weren’t imagining it.

Joel’s eyes were still on you, his body still angled slightly toward yours, and you were very aware of the space between you.

Your skin prickled, still damp from the pool, and you wondered again if he was thinking about that night. If the way his fingers flexed against the counter meant he remembered how they’d felt on your skin. If the way he swallowed meant he was trying real hard not to think about the words you exchanged, low, filthy, depraved–

The sound of footsteps echoed down the hall, breaking the moment like a stone thrown into still water.

“Y’all hidin’ in here?” Tommy’s voice was easy, oblivious as he crossed the threshold, already making a beeline for the fridge.

“What?” you squeaked, “No, why’d we be hiding?”

Oh god. Your stomach flipped as heat prickled up your spine. Why the hell had you said it like that?

Tommy, thankfully, didn’t seem to notice—or if he did, he didn’t care.

“It’s hot as hell out there. Think I saw Frank fannin’ himself with a paper plate like some old lady in church.”

Joel straightened immediately, rolling his shoulders back like he’d just snapped to attention. He cleared his throat, shifting his grip on the beer bottle. “Damn near a hundred degrees, I’d say. Just… takin’ a minute.”

Tommy barely looked up, cracking open the fridge. He grabbed a beer for himself, glancing toward you. “That for Marie?”

You nodded, heart still kicking a little harder than it should. “Yeah.”

“Good. She was about five seconds from sending out a search party for it.”

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose—maybe a huff of a laugh, maybe just a breath—but he made sure to avert his eyes from you now.

You just nodded once, shifting the container in your arms before turning on your heel and walking out the way you came.

Joel

A week had passed, the tightness of unspoken things curling around him until the evening settled low one night and Joel finally started to relax.

The TV’s blue light flickered against the golden glow siphoning through the blinds, the last rays of daylight painting the floorboards in long, slanted streaks. The house was quiet aside from the hum of the sitcom playing, its canned laughter punctuated by the real thing—Sarah, curled up beside him on the arm of the couch, feet tucked up against his thigh as she giggled at another dumb joke.

But Joel was distracted.

He’d been distracted for days, really. 

It wasn’t just the wrongness of it—though there was plenty of that, enough to make his gut twist every time he let himself linger too long on it. 

It was the fact that he couldn’t seem to stop feeling it.

The way you’d tightened up around him, shuddering, gasping, falling apart with his name on your lips. The way you’d let him take you, let him fill you, let him say things he had no right to say.

He shook his head, forcing the thought away.

Wouldn’t let himself dwell on it. Wouldn’t let himself remember the way you felt, the way you sounded, wrecked and breathless beneath him. Wouldn’t let himself think about how easy it had been to lose himself in it, to let every filthy thought spill from his mouth like he didn’t give a damn about the consequences.

But you.

You had let him. Had taken everything he gave you, had needed it.

And worse than any of it—the thing that really messed him up—was knowing that Tommy, his own brother, couldn’t make you finish the way he had.

That knowledge had settled deep in his bones, twisting something dark and selfish in his gut. That he was the one who had made you come apart like that. That only he had. And God help him, but the idea stroked his ego like a cat purring into your hand. He hadn’t been able to think straight since.

And maybe that was why, when the knock came, it took him a second to register it.

Joel blinked, dragging himself out of his own damn head. He turned to Sarah, their eyes meeting in confusion. “You expectin’ anyone?” he asked. Sarah shook her head, brow furrowing. Joel exhaled, pushing himself up from the couch with a few protesting cracks in his knees before heading for the door, rubbing at the tension settled in his jaw before pulling it open.

For a second, he had to blink to make sure he was seeing right.

You stood on his porch, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, stuffed into the front pocket, your hair mussed from the evening breeze. The light had dipped enough that everything was softer now, blurred at the edges, but it didn’t hide the red rimming your eyes, the way your shoulders curled in just slightly.

Joel’s chest tightened.

“Hey,” you said softly.

He cleared his throat, opening and closing his mouth, but before he could say anything, Sarah appeared beside him.

He watched as your expression shifted instantly, the smile pulling at your lips effortless, natural. A mask, maybe—but a convincing one.

“Auntie!” Sarah beamed, rushing forward to wrap her arms around you. And just like that, your smile became real. He saw the way your eyes softened as you hugged her back, tucking your chin briefly over the top of her head.

Sarah pulled away just enough to grin up at you. “Whatcha doin’ here?”

Your gaze flicked between her and Joel before settling back on Sarah. “Was wonderin’ if I could steal your dad for a sec,” you said easily, voice light, “that okay?”

“Please,” Sarah teased, shooting Joel a smirk. “Any chance to take him off my hands is always appreciated.”

Joel snorted, shaking his head as Sarah turned back toward the couch, giggling to herself. But when he looked back at you, the brightness from a moment ago had already dimmed. The smile had slipped—not completely, but enough. Your lips were still quirked at the edges, but your eyes… your eyes looked tired.

Joel exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“So,” you sighed, shifting slightly on your feet. “Can we talk?”

There was something in your voice, something heavy, something that sat thick in the air between you. And Joel knew. He knew what this had to be about, but that didn’t stop his mind from racing, didn’t stop the sudden, gnawing pull in his gut as a dozen worst-case scenarios started clawing their way forward.

Were you here to tell him it was all a mistake? That he should’ve never come near you like that, never agreed to something so ridiculous? Were you going to say you couldn’t look at him the same, that you didn’t want to, that whatever had happened between you was too far over some invisible line?

Or worse—were you here to cut him out entirely? To tell him he was done, that he’d never step foot in your house again, never see the baby he had tried to put in you?

The thought settled cold in his stomach, but he didn’t let it show. He just jerked his head toward the hall, leading you through the quiet house and out to the back door.

The porch creaked beneath your weight as you moved, wordless, settling onto the old swing. Joel followed, standing a few paces away, one hand braced against the railing. You didn’t look at him. He didn’t look at you.

Your eyes were fixed on the pool in the yard—the above-ground one he’d put in for Sarah and her friends this summer, the water still rippling from whatever movement had last disturbed it. The tubes and pool rafts floated aimlessly, bobbing in the quiet evening breeze.

But you weren’t really looking at them. Joel could tell your stare was a thousand miles away.

Just say it, he thought. Just tell me you think it was all a mistake, so I can stop going crazy in my head.

“It didn’t work,” you finally said, voice cracking.

Joel’s eyes found yours, and for a moment, all he could do was look.

You were beautiful in the dying light—soft gold settling over your features, catching in the moisture gathering in your eyes. Your chin wobbled, lips parting slightly as you sucked in a shaky breath, fighting for control.

His chest ached.

Joel had never been good at this. Never been the type for soft reassurances or knowing what to say when someone was hurting. But he couldn’t just stand there, not when you looked like this. So he moved, stiff and uncertain, stepping toward the swing before lowering himself onto it beside you.

The wood groaned slightly beneath his weight and for a second he hesitated, fingers twitching against his thigh. Then, after a beat, he lifted a hand and rested it on your shoulder, squeezing gently.

The sound you let out was small, choked, a breath away from a sob. Your hands flew up to your face as your shoulders curled inward, your body trembling against the weight of it.

And then—before he could react—you turned into him. Pressed your face against his chest, curled against his side like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Joel stiffened.

For a long, still moment, he didn’t move, his body locked up tight. His breath was shallow, caught somewhere in his throat, but the sound of you—soft, muffled cries against his shirt, the uneven tremble of your breath—made his chest pull even tighter.

Carefully, slowly, he let his arm settle around you.

He wasn’t sure how much comfort he could offer, but he could do this. He could be solid. He could be warm. He could let his fingers trace slow, steady strokes over your arm, grounding you, letting you take what you needed.

“I’m sorry,” he finally whispered.

You sniffled, your body shifting as you pulled back slightly. It was like you suddenly realized how close you were, blinking up at him, eyes glassy but clearer now.

“It’s—” you exhaled shakily, rubbing at your face with the sleeve of your hoodie. “It’s okay. Not your fault, of course.”

Your shoulder still pressed lightly against his, and Joel’s arm, solid and steady around you, didn’t move. He wasn’t sure if it was to comfort you or to keep himself grounded, but his thumb was still tracing slow, absentminded strokes against your arm, like if he stopped, something might shift in a way he wasn’t ready for.

The quiet between you stretched, thick and full, the weight of everything that had transpired the past few weeks hanging in the warm evening air. The swing creaked softly beneath you, the distant chirp of crickets threading through the silence, but neither of you spoke.

Joel wasn’t sure what the hell he was supposed to say.

He didn’t know how to fix this. Didn’t know if you even wanted him to fix it. So he just sat there, his fingers still moving, his eyes still studying you—your profile washed in golden light, the way your lashes were still damp, the slow rise and fall of your chest as you tried to steady yourself.

And then—

“Would you…” Your voice was small, barely above a whisper.

Joel felt like his lungs stopped working, his heart kicking up before he even knew why. You were still staring down at your lap, fingers twisting together, your teeth catching at your lip as you sucked in a breath like you weren’t sure how to say what you wanted to.

You tried again. “Would you be okay with…”

You trailed off, shaking your head. Still not looking at him.

But Joel knew. Knew before you even said it, before the words could form, before you could force yourself to meet his gaze.

“You want to try again?” he asked quietly. 

That got you to look at him.

And when your eyes met his, something shifted. Because Joel suddenly realized just how close you were.

Close enough that he could make out every ridge and curve of your soft lips, every delicate flicker of color in your irises, every tiny freckle that summer had kissed onto your skin. He hadn’t noticed it before—not really. Not in the dark of your room, not when he’d been too caught up in the moment to see you the way he did now.

Yes, you were nice-looking—Tommy always had good taste in women. But Joel had never let himself notice something like that. Not before. Not until now, until you were watching him with that hesitant, quiet hope, until something deep and unfamiliar curled in his chest in a way he couldn’t quite name.

He could feel you shifting beside him, like you were fighting some sort of urge, like you didn’t quite know what to do with yourself. He got it. He felt it too. That strange, electric wrongness, the awareness that neither of you was saying what you were actually thinking. His fingers twitched where they laid, but he didn’t move them.

“Would you be okay with that?” you asked softly. “I’ll talk to Tommy, see what he thinks, of course. He’s out tonight, but I just—I couldn’t stand being alone. After taking the test this morning, it just felt so empty in the house. It’s okay if you don’t want to, of course. We can figure out something else, maybe a donor or some sort of IVF or surrogacy—”

You were rambling now, your words tumbling out too fast, your hands twisting in your lap, your eyes darting away from his like you didn’t really expect him to say yes.

Joel didn’t know what the hell to do with the mess of feelings twisting inside him as he watched you stumble over your words. It wasn’t like you to hesitate, to second-guess yourself—but now, you were looking anywhere but at him, your fingers fidgeting, your breath uneven. He should’ve let you work through it. Should’ve waited. But before he could think better of it, his hand moved, fingers brushing beneath your chin, tilting your face up to his.

Your breath hitched as he lifted your face toward him, guiding your eyes back to his in a slow, careful motion that had nothing to do with the things he wasn’t supposed to think about.

“I’ll do it,” he murmured, his voice low, steady. And damn him, he couldn't help the way his eyes flickered to your lips as they parted when he said, “We can try again.”

“Are you sure you have to go?” you asked, your hands resting on Tommy’s chest as he held your hips, fingers squeezing gently.

His smile was soft, easy—full of the kind of warmth Joel had no business standing in the middle of. There was so much love in your eyes, so much familiarity between you, and Joel felt like he was intruding.

But that didn’t make much sense, did it? You’d both invited him here. You’d both agreed to this. And yet, here he was, sitting on the damn couch, trying not to watch the way you looked at your husband—like you’d rather he stayed, like you weren’t about to let his older brother take his place in your bed for the night.

“Listen, hun,” Tommy said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You know how Frank’s been feelin’, all the pressure of havin’ a baby soon. Marie’s gonna pop any day now, and the least the fellas could do was plan a night away.”

You pouted up at him, fingers playing absently in the longer strands of hair at his nape.

Joel exhaled slowly through his nose, trying to focus on anything else. The clock ticking on the wall. The hum of the fridge. The feeling of his own damn skin crawling.

“Joel here’ll take good care of ya,” Tommy said, and Joel’s body locked up.

His head jerked up, his whole body locking up like he’d been physically struck.

When he met Tommy’s gaze, there wasn’t even a flicker of mischief there. No teasing, no knowing smirk. Like he hadn’t just said the worst goddamn innuendo Joel had ever heard in his life.

Christ.

“Jesus, Tommy,” Joel muttered under his breath, but his brother didn’t hear him.

Or maybe he just ignored him.

Either way, Joel didn’t look. Didn’t watch the way Tommy leaned down, kissed you slow and lingering. Didn’t watch the way you melted into it, or the way his little brother looked at you like you were the most precious thing in the world to him.

Not with what the night had in store for the two of you.

When the door shut behind Tommy a few minutes later, you turned, your eyes flicking to Joel—hesitant, uncertain—before darting away just as fast.

There was no getting over how weird this was.

“Can I… get you something to drink?” you asked from across the room, your voice just a little too casual, like you were trying to make this feel normal.

Joel nodded. Something to take the edge off was exactly what he needed.

With Sarah at a friend’s for the night, there was no rush, no curfew, no reason to be anywhere but here. He could take his time. He should take his time, not rush into it like last time. He still felt bad about how long it had taken him to get it up. But what the hell did anyone expect?

This was weird.

His younger brother asking him to put a baby in his wife.

His sweet, pretty, sexy wife.

Oh, Jesus Christ.

Joel cleared his throat, rubbing a hand over his jaw as you turned to grab the bottle from the cabinet. His eyes flicked down—just for a second—catching the curve of your waist, the slope of your back as you reached for two glasses.

He needed to get his shit together.

“Whiskey, really?” he asked, surprised.

“I thought it would be for the best. Ya know. Calm the nerves.”

“You’re nervous?” He didn't mean for it to come out so rough, so low and gravely, but something in the way you were standing there, hand wrapped around the wide glass as you looked between him and the drink.

You handed him his glass, fingers brushing, and you pulled away as soon as his hand wrapped around it, grabbing yours and walking into the living room, “Aren’t you?”

Joel brought the glass to his lips, giving himself a second before responding as he sat down across from you. The whiskey burned, but not as much as the look you gave him over the rim of your own glass.

"Wouldn’t call it nervous," he muttered, setting his drink down on the table.

You hummed, taking another sip. "No?"

"Nah." He shifted, the leather couch creaking beneath him. "Just... y’know. Wrappin’ my head around it."

You studied him for a long beat, fingers curled loosely around your glass. "So you’re sayin’ it’s not weird for you at all?"

Joel let out a little chuckle, rubbing his palm over his thigh. "Didn’t say that."

Your lips quirked, but it wasn’t quite a smile. Maybe more like you were just relieved that he was talking to you again. Something in Joel shifted at the realization. He should’ve been better at this—at talking, at making this easier. At not making things so damn weird.

"Guess I just figured the second time would be easier," you admitted, voice softer now, quieter.

"Easier how?" Joel asked, his hands twitching on his thighs before he grabbed his glass again, taking another sip just to do something.

You hesitated. "Jus’ didn’t expect it to feel so…" Your eyes, previously glued to the contents of your drink, flickered up to meet his. Joel felt his stomach flip, his pulse tick up. Your gaze was steady, unsure but searching, and he could feel it— the weight of it settling somewhere deep in his chest, in the thick, charged air between you.

“Tense.” you finished, and Joel swallowed down his last sip of whiskey, the burn sinking all the way to his gut, welcome this time—anything to settle the fire licking up his spine. 

It took a moment before Joel realized the both of you were staring at each other, gazes locked and burning across the room.

The silence stretched, thick and unmoving, the weight of it pressing down on his chest. He should look away, should say something to break whatever spell this was, but his body wasn’t cooperating. His fingers flexed around his empty glass, his breath slow and measured like he was trying real hard not to give himself away.

Then, you blinked, inhaled, and wet your lips before forcing out a quiet, “Should we… get to it, then?”

Joel exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly, eyes dragging over your face, searching. “That what you wanna do?” His voice came out rougher than he meant, lower, like the whiskey had settled there and refused to budge.

You let out a breathy laugh—nervous, unsure. “Isn’t that what we’re here for?”

Joel didn’t answer at first. He just set his empty glass down on the table, slow and deliberate, the soft clink against the wood the only sound between you. Then, he leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, watching you.

“I mean,” he murmured, voice low, “we got all night, don’t we?”

You nodded, slow, absent, your teeth catching your bottom lip as your fingers toyed with the hem of your shorts. Your bare legs shifted slightly, restless, and Joel could see the way your body carried the same tightly wound energy thrumming under his own skin.

And for the first time, he wondered if it wasn’t just him who felt different. If you’d been thinking about that night all along too. If this thing, this quiet, simmering thing between you, had started to crack open something neither of you were ready to face.

Joel swallowed, flexing his fingers against his knees before dragging one hand over his jaw. “You sure about this?” he asked, his voice rougher than he intended.

You exhaled, shifting in your seat, but when your eyes lifted to his, there was something there—something nervous, maybe, but certain.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I’m sure.”

Joel nodded once, slow, measured. “Alright.”

But neither of you moved.

Not yet.

And that might’ve been the worst part, the way the space between you suddenly felt charged, humming, like a live wire sparking at both ends, neither one of you quite willing to touch it first.

Joel finally sat back, spreading his legs slightly, running his tongue over his teeth in thought. “How you wanna do this?”

The words sent something sharp curling low in his stomach, but he kept his expression even. Neutral. Like this wasn’t the strangest damn conversation he’d ever had in his life.

Your lips parted slightly, like you hadn’t expected him to ask that, and something flickered in your gaze.

“I…” You hesitated, shifting again. “I don’t know.”

Joel huffed a quiet breath, rubbing a hand over his thigh. “Why don’t you tell me what you like,”

He meant it as a practical question. But the second the words left his mouth, something about them felt different. Felt thick.

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed, lips parting again—but no words came.

Joel’s fingers flexed where they rested, and then, slowly, deliberately, he lifted his hand and curled two fingers toward himself in a beckoning motion.

“C’mere.” His voice was low, rough, unwavering. His other hand patted the empty space beside him on the couch.

Your eyes went wide.

Joel’s gaze stayed steady, dark and unreadable, waiting, watching. And when you didn’t move, when you stayed frozen in place, teeth worrying your lip like you weren’t sure if you should—

He tilted his head slightly, exhaling through his nose.

“Don’t be all shy now,” he murmured. “You helped me last time. I’ll help you this time.” A pause, thick with meaning. “Come on, now.”

Your fingers twitched, and then slowly, hesitantly, you moved towards him.

You set down the empty whiskey glass with a soft clink, and Joel caught the slight tremble in your hands as you made your way over to him. You sat beside him, close but not too close, your body angled toward his, but still not touching. He could feel the heat of you, though, could sense the way you hovered in that charged space, your breath just a little uneven.

Your eyes flickered to his, uncertain, waiting.

Joel let the moment stretch before speaking, voice low, rough with the remnants of whiskey and something heavier. “Now,” he drawled, slow and deliberate, as his hand rested on the back of the couch as he turned towards you, “what’s got you all worked up, hm? Why you nervous tonight? Weren’t nervous last time.”

You blinked at him, “Yes, I was.”

Joel shot you a look, brows furrowing slightly.

You were?

Hell, he was the one who’d been in damn ribbons last time, all wound up so tight he couldn’t even get hard at first. But you…you’d been steady, patient, pulling him out of his own head with soft hands and softer words, guiding him through it like you’d done this a thousand times before.

But now, looking at you, at the way your fingers twisted absently in your lap, at the way you were still hesitating, hovering, he realized maybe he’d had it all wrong.

Maybe you’d just been better at hiding it.

Something in him shifted at that thought, something warm and unexpected. And then—just like that—the corner of your mouth quirked up, barely there, but enough.

Enough to break the tension just a little.

Joel’s gaze stayed locked on yours, watching the way your lips twitched with that barely-there smile, the way you shifted in your seat, still wound up tight. You might’ve been trying to play it off, but he could see it now. The way your body was holding something back, how much you were overthinking, just like he had last time.

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping low and edged with something darker.

“How do you usually get off?”

He watched the way your body reacted to the question, your thighs pressing together just slightly, the way your fingers tensed against the couch cushion, like you needed something to hold onto.

“Joel—”

“C’mon, now,” he murmured, tilting his head, gaze flickering down your body before finding your eyes again. “You asked me the same question last time. Let me help you relax, sweetheart.”

Your breath came a little faster now, chest rising and falling, and for a second, Joel thought you might overthink your way out of this. Might shake your head, pull away, break the moment before it could go any further.

“I, um…” Your teeth caught your bottom lip harder now as your eyes flicked away, like you were thinking, trying to find the right words. “Tommy—he usually… he’ll go down on me.”

Joel hummed, urging you on. “Mhm.”

“And usually I’ll get off then—”

“Usually?” Joel interjected without thinking. His brow furrowed slightly as he looked at you.

You shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Sometimes it takes a while,” you admitted. “So I tell him to give up and—”

“Give up?!” Now Joel was incredulous. His head jerked slightly as he wiped a hand down his face, like he could scrub away the mental image of his little brother trying and failing to make his own damn wife finish on his tongue.

"Jesus Christ."

You gave a small, amused shake of your head. “Not everyone is as talented as you, Joel Miller.”

The words left your mouth so easily, a throwaway comment, but the second you said it, your face went red, realizing what you’d just admitted. You let out a breathy laugh, trying to play it off as a joke, but Joel wasn’t remotely amused.

Because he’d seen the way you shrugged when you said give up. Like it was normal. Like you didn’t expect anything else.

No. He wasn’t having any of that.

His expression hardened, jaw ticking.

“Lay back.”

Your eyes widened slightly, your lips parting as you released your lip from between your teeth. “What?”

“Lay back, dammit. Pants off.”

“Joel, we’re—”

“You keep breakin’ Rule Number Three, doll, I’m gonna start thinkin’ you don’t give a damn about ‘em.” His voice was firm, his gaze unwavering.

“Sorry,” you murmured, your voice softer now, almost breathless, and Joel’s stomach tightened at the sound of it.

Joel was already moving, shifting forward, his body his broad frame eclipsing yours, forcing you to either back up or let him take what he wanted. You braced yourself against the couch, your hands gripping at the cushions as he hovered over you, broad and unrelenting.

“You don’t have to–”

“I said lay back, baby,” he murmured, voice low and firm, edged with something dark and determined. His fingers brushed against your thigh, coaxing, teasing, his eyes locked onto yours. “Lemme show you how it’s supposed to be.”

You hesitated, your chest rising and falling too quickly, lips parting like you wanted to say something—maybe protest, maybe challenge him—but instead, you obeyed.

You let him guide you down, sinking back against the cushions, legs still bent, thighs pressed tight together.

Joel hummed at the sight of you beneath him, at the way you looked up at him now—uncertain, but wanting. He could see it in the way your breath hitched, in the way your fingers twitched like you didn’t know what to do with them.

“That’s a good girl,” he muttered, dragging his palm up the length of your thigh, heat radiating from his touch even through the fabric of your shorts.

He should take his time, should tease you like he’d been dreaming about in the weeks between last time and now—the way he’d pictured you squirming, begging for him. But then he remembered what you’d said.

How sometimes it took too long.

How you’d just tell Tommy to give up.

Like it was your fault. Like you were too much work.

Bullshit.

Joel’s jaw ticked, something dark and dangerous curling in his gut. His fingers flexed against your skin before slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down before you could say anything else.

You sucked in a breath, hips lifting instinctively, letting him pull them past your thighs, past your knees, tossing them somewhere behind him. His hands settled firm on your legs, his thumbs stroking slow, deliberate circles against your inner thighs as he spread them wider.

And fuck, you were already so wet, your panties clinging to you, a darkened patch right where he wanted to put his mouth.

His smirk was slow, satisfied.

"What’s this all about, hm?" he purred, pressing his thumb against the damp fabric, rubbing just enough to make you jolt. "Wanna tell me what’s got you all dripping for me already?"

Your breath hitched, a little mewl escaping you as you tried pushing your thighs together, squeezing tight, making the soft, puffy outline of your lips press perfectly against the thin fabric.

Joel swore he started salivating.

His hands ran up your legs as he sank onto the floor, knees pressing firm against the couch cushions, palms settling against the soft skin of your inner thighs. He wanted you spread open for him, wanted all of you.

"Tell me, baby," he urged, voice thick, coaxing.

Your throat bobbed, lips parting, your breath a little shaky. "I was…" You swallowed hard, fingers twisting in the couch cushion, "I was just remembering."

Joel’s eyes flicked to yours, heavy-lidded and dazed, thick with want. "Rememberin’ what?"

You met his gaze, lashes low, voice barely above a breath. "How good you made me feel last time. I’d never… felt that before. Not like that, at least."

Jesus fucking Christ.

Joel let out a low groan, his cock stiffening behind his zipper, aching in a way that made his breath come slow and deep through his nose. You had to feel it, the hard press of denim against your ass, the way his body reacted to your words, to the way you looked at him like you were already cock-drunk before he even touched you properly.

"You felt so good, Joel," you murmured, your voice thick, dreamy, like you were already sinking into it. "Made me feel so good."

His fingers curled against your thighs, pressing in just a little harder.

"Gonna make you feel real good again, baby," he muttered, voice rough as his fingers hooked into your panties. He pulled them down slow, savoring the sight of them peeling away from your slick folds, strings of arousal clinging to the fabric.

"Open these pretty legs for me," he murmured, gripping your thighs, easing them apart as he settled lower, gaze locked on the glistening heat between them.

You let him hold you open, bare to him, and all Joel could think about was getting his mouth on you, making you come undone the way you were supposed to.

The way he knew he could.

Joel’s breath was heavy, measured, but inside, he was burning.

He slid his palms up your thighs, pressing them wider, his thumbs tracing firm, slow strokes along the sensitive skin. His hands felt big where they gripped you, broad and rough, like they could hold you there forever, keep you open for him until he was satisfied.

And right now, he was hungry.

His gaze stayed locked between your legs, taking in the way you glistened in the low light, slick and dripping for him, already so ready. He exhaled sharply through his nose, his cock pulsing behind the tight confines of his jeans.

"Fuck, baby," he murmured, almost to himself, dragging his thumbs over your inner thighs, watching the way your muscles twitched beneath his touch. "You got no clue how pretty you are down here, do you?"

You whimpered, a small, needy sound, and Joel felt it straight in his gut.

He leaned in, inhaling against your core, lips just barely brushing against you—not quite a kiss, not quite a touch, just enough to tease, to let you feel the heat of his breath against your slick folds.

You gasped, your hips jerking slightly.

He smirked, the ghost of it pressing against your skin.

"Easy, sweetheart," he murmured, smoothing his hands over your thighs, grounding you, keeping you spread open for him. "Ain’t gotta rush. Gonna take my time with you."

And then, finally he let his tongue drag through your folds, broad and slow, from your dripping entrance up to your swollen clit.

You shuddered.

Your fingers scrambled at the couch cushion, a broken moan spilling from your lips, thighs trembling beneath his hands.

"That’s it," Joel muttered against you, voice thick, satisfied. He dragged his tongue over you again, slower this time, savoring the way you tasted, the way you reacted.

He loved this—loved watching you come undone beneath him, loved the way your body melted, how you gave in so easily when someone actually took their damn time with you.

His mouth latched onto your clit, sucking just enough to make your back arch off the couch, another moan breaking free.

"Joel—oh my God—"

"Mmm," he hummed in response, the vibration sending a sharp jolt through your core. His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you still, keeping you right where he wanted you.

You were practically dripping onto the couch, coating his lips, his chin, and Joel loved it. Lapped it up like he was dying for it, groaning against you, letting himself drown in you.

He flicked his tongue, slow and teasing, before dragging it down, prodding your entrance. His hands slid up, fingers pressing against the dips of your hips, holding you steady as his tongue dipped inside you.

You choked on a breath, your thighs twitching against his shoulders, and Joel grinned.

"Yeah?" he rasped, pulling back just slightly, his lips slick and shining with you. "That feel good, sweetheart?"

You barely managed to nod before his mouth was back on you, eating you like a man starved.

Your hands fisted in his hair, and he groaned against you. He loved how messy you were, how you squirmed just as he’d imagined, how you kept whispering his fucking name, breathless and desperate like you just couldnt help yourself.

He knew there was a reason that was a rule.

Because it sounded too fucking pretty coming from your mouth, tangled up in all those sweet little sounds you were making, and he never wanted to stop hearing it.

"Ain’t learned your lesson yet, huh?" he muttered against you, voice thick with sin, pressing a kiss against your clit before dragging his tongue over it again, slow and deliberate, feeling the way you jerked. "Keep breakin’ that rule, sweetheart, and I’m never gonna stop."

A little choked noise escaped you, hands pulling harder in his hair, but you weren’t pushing him away—you were pulling him in.

And fuck, did that make him ache.

"Bet you don’t come this quick for him, do you?" he rasped, letting his tongue dip down, teasing at your entrance before pressing inside, groaning as he felt you pulse around him. "How long’s it take you on my brother’s tongue, huh? You gotta work for it? Tell him it’s okay to give up?"

You whimpered, a full-body shudder rolling through you, your hips rolling up, chasing more, and fuck, that answer was all he needed.

Joel grinned against you.

"Not with me, baby. Nuh-uh. You come when I tell you to, and you ain't goin' nowhere 'til I get what I want."

His fingers dug into your thighs as he devoured you, tongue working you over, sucking slow, firm pulls on your clit until your whole body seized beneath him.

"Joel—"

Your thighs clamped around his head, hands flying to your mouth like you could stop it, like you knew you weren’t supposed to say it.

Joel groaned, filthy and deep, gripping your hips tighter, dragging you down against his mouth, forcing you to take it.

"That's it, baby," he growled against you, tongue curling, licking deep. "Say it again. Come on my tongue saying my name, just like that."

You shattered, a strangled, broken cry falling from your lips as you gushed against his tongue, whole body trembling, thighs shaking around his head.

And Joel fucking loved it.

But he wasn't done. Not even close.

Your breath was still uneven, your body twitching from the aftershocks, when he kept going.

"Too much—" your voice was a high, breathless plea, hips shifting like you were trying to get away, but Joel chuckled, gripping you tighter, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

"Nah, sweetheart," he murmured, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against your soaked folds. "Tommy might let you tap out, but I ain’t him. You’re gonna take everything I give you."

And then he was back on you, devouring you, tongue pushing into you, working you open, tasting you like he was fucking starved for it.

You gasped, legs trembling, but Joel just held you still, broad hands locked tight around your thighs, thumbs digging into the soft flesh as he pinned you down.

He wasn’t sure what came over him in these moments. Wasn’t sure if he’d ever been like this before. He couldn’t remember another time a woman made him feel this insatiable, this hungry. He kept telling himself one more—just one more, to wring you out and leave you spent beneath him. But you were still so soft, still so wet, and he wasn’t finished yet.

He pulled back just enough to watch the way you twitched beneath him, your lips parted, your chest rising and falling fast. Your thighs gave a little shake where he held them apart, and fuck—you looked downright beautiful.

You were panting, wrecked, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, legs trembling where he held them apart.

And Joel was grinning against you.

Because you hadn’t told him to stop yet.

And until you did, he was gonna pull another from you.

And another.

And another.

By the time you came the fifth time, you were boneless.

Joel leaned back slightly, watching the way you just lay there, sprawled out against the couch like your body had melted into it, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. Your legs were still twitching, little aftershocks making you jolt every now and then, and he could feel the warmth of you still slick and messy against his mouth, his chin, his fingers.

He wasn’t sure if you were even conscious after that last one.

He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, jaw tightening at the sight of you—wrecked, trembling, looking like you hadn’t even processed what the hell had just happened to you.

Joel exhaled through his nose, pleased, then dragged himself up over your body, bracing his forearms on either side of your head. You barely stirred, eyes fluttering, a sleepy little hum slipping from your lips as his hand slid into your hair, tucking it behind your ear.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, voice rough.

You made a noise, something breathy and spent, your eyes opening just barely.

“Hm?”

Joel smirked. "You need a break?"

There was a beat, like you were trying to process what that even meant—then a sleepy little giggle bubbled up in your throat, your hands finding his hair, fingertips scratching lightly against his scalp.

"Maybe like, five minutes," you murmured, smiling up at him, wrecked but glowing.

Joel huffed a laugh, shaking his head, before pulling you against him. You let out a surprised squeak as he stood up, gathering you into his arms like you weighed nothing.

“What the—?”

Joel shot you a lazy grin, shifting you higher against his chest. "My brother would kill me if I told him I knocked you up on a couch like a teenage boy."

That finally seemed to wake you up.

Your whole body stiffened, eyes going a little wide as reality set in.

"Oh, god…" you murmured, voice a little hoarse, your hands gripping at his shoulders. "I can't believe we just… I just did that…"

And fuck, something in Joel sank at the sound of your voice.

Because he knew that tone. Knew it well—that creeping guilt, that second-guessing, the way someone’s mind started running ahead of them, thinking about what it all meant instead of how it felt.

His jaw tightened.

He hadn’t meant to… he didn’t even know what came over him. He should’ve stopped earlier, should’ve slowed down, should’ve given you more space to breathe before he just took and took and took.

But Jesus, the way you responded to him, the way you gave it all back, the way you opened for him like you’d been waiting for someone to finally take care of you—

It did something to him. Still, he had to be sure.

"Hey." His voice was softer now, more even, as he shifted his grip on you, keeping you steady in his arms as he began to climb the stairs. "Ain't nobody gotta know. Stays between us."

You blinked up at him, chest still rising and falling a little too quickly, fingers curling slightly into his shirt.

“But Tommy—”

Joel shook his head, cutting you off gently. "Tommy don't need to know a damn thing ‘cept that we tried."

You swallowed, lips pressing together like you were still processing, like you wanted to say something else, but didn’t know how.

Joel exhaled, shifting his weight slightly, giving you something solid to hold onto.

"You still want this, don’t you?" he asked, quiet, steady.

You hesitated—but then, slowly, you nodded.

"Yeah."

Joel nodded back, just once.

"Then that's all that matters."

His hand smoothed over your back, solid and warm, grounding you. "We just keep doin' what we agreed on. Nothin’ more, nothin’ less."

Your breath hitched slightly, but you nodded again.

And Joel didn’t let himself think about why that felt like a lie as he crossed the threshold into your bedroom.

Eventually, he laid you down on the bed, and you settled back against the pillows, your chest still rising and falling in slow, deep breaths. You reached for the hem of your shirt, peeling it off and tossing it somewhere, your bra following it to the floor.

Joel took his time. He shucked off his jeans, then his shirt, watching the way heat crept up your neck, the flush deepening across your skin as you took him in. 

He told himself he just wanted to see your reaction—wanted to watch the way you took him in, wide-eyed and wanting—but the truth was, last time, he’d been so caught up in his own head, trying to wrap his mind around what the fuck he was doing, he barely let himself process it.

He wanted to commit this to memory.

In case it was the last time.

His hand wrapped around his cock, the poor thing aching, flushed dark at the tip, leaking, desperate for relief. He hissed through his teeth, exhaling sharply as he stroked himself, his eyes fluttering shut for just a second before he climbed onto the bed.

But before he could settle over you, you moved. You laid down flat on your belly, head toward the foot of the bed, your chest pressed flush to the mattress, your ass tilted up just slightly.

And right in front of you—the dresser mirror.

Joel’s body locked up as his eyes flicked up, finding his own reflection staring back at him. But then—your eyes met his through the glass, a little shy, a little hesitant.

Jesus fucking Christ.

His cock twitched in his hand, and his grip tightened around the base like he needed to ground himself, keep himself from losing control too fucking fast.

And then you smiled—small, soft, still lost in that post-orgasm haze, warm and pliant and looking like you’d do anything he told you to.

Joel climbed onto the bed, moving behind you, his weight shifting over your back as his broad hands settled on your hips, gripping firm.

His eyes flicked back up to the mirror, watching the way you looked at him, watching yourself.

He smirked.

“You dirty girl,” he murmured, his grip tightening as he ground his cock through your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal.

A breathy whimper slipped from your lips, your body arching, pressing your ass back into him, and he swore under his breath as his bulbous, leaking tip caught against your entrance.

The heat of you, still soaking, still so tight, made his breath catch as he  lowered himself, chest pressing into your back, caging you in, his lips grazing the shell of your ear as his cock teased against you, notching at your entrance, pushing just barely.

"You wanna watch me fuck you?" he rasped, his voice low, dark, dripping with sin.

You let out a shaky breath, eyes fluttering shut, and Joel rolled his hips forward, making you feel every inch of him stretching you open, slow, teasing, unbearable.

Your eyes snapped open, a choked gasp spilling from your lips as your gaze locked onto his in the mirror.

That wrecked, ruined expression, that wide-eyed shock as you took him inch by inch, deeper and deeper…

He knew was never gonna forget this.

Joel growled against your ear, his breath hot, his hips pressing flush against your ass as he bottomed out, stretching you open until there was nowhere left for you to go.

"Wanna watch your husband’s own brother knock you up, baby?" he purred.

Your jaw dropped, eyes going glassy, mouth parted in a silent cry as he felt you squeeze around him, your tight little pussy gripping him like you’d never let him go.

Joel had never felt anything this good.

He pulled back, just barely, before sinking home again, slow and deep, forcing you to feel every inch of him, every drag of his cock as he stretched you open all over again.

You whimpered, nails scraping against the sheets, already wrecked, but not nearly done.

He watched in the mirror as your lips parted, as your lashes fluttered, as your brows furrowed at the overwhelming sensation of it—of him, filling you to the brim, thick and unrelenting.

"That’s it, pretty girl," he groaned, grinding into you, pressing his full weight over you, hips rolling in a slow, deep rhythm. "Take it just like that. Nice ‘n easy, let me feel you, huh?"

Your mouth fell open, a breathy little moan spilling out as he fucked you slow, letting you feel every inch, dragging it out, stretching it thicker, deeper.

Then he pulled back, bracing a big, rough hand on your hip before thrusting forward, harder this time, deeper, dragging a sharp gasp from your lips as your eyes flew open— and as he looked up and saw your face, he could’ve finished right then and there, your eyes flashing open wide and your wrecked voice crying out for him.

His jaw clenched, his fingers digging into your hip as he set a punishing rhythm, hips snapping against your ass, the slick wet sounds of you taking him filling the room, mixing with the soft, broken noises slipping from your mouth as he fucked you hard, deep, like he’d been waiting his whole life to do this.

Joel’s body pinned you down, his weight heavy and solid as he laid over you. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to move—just him, pressing you into the mattress, keeping you exactly where he wanted you, exactly where you needed to be.

The heat of him burned into your back, his chest slick against your skin, his breaths hot and uneven at your ear as he worked himself slow and deep, grinding his hips down into you, forcing your body to take everything he gave you.

You couldn’t move.

You could barely breathe.

Every push forward drove you deeper into the mattress, your fingers gripping at the sheets, holding on as his pace built, each thrust sinking him deeper, stretching you open with long, deliberate strokes.

Joel groaned against the nape of your neck, his mouth grazing your skin as his hips rocked into you, dragging you forward with every heavy roll of his body. His weight bore down, pressing you into the bed, keeping you flush beneath him, letting him sink in to the very hilt, until you could feel every thick inch of him, filling you, claiming you.

He could feel everything—the way your body clenched around him, the way your walls fluttered, pulling him in deeper, tight and wet, keeping him locked inside you.

And in the mirror, he could see how flushed, how spent and wrecked you were, your soft lips in a perfect ‘o’ as he kept pushing himself to the hilt, your velvet walls constricting his cock with every thrust. He relished in the feeling, how deep he was inside you, how good you felt wrapped around him, how you had no choice but to take it.

Your moan was soft, needy, muffled by the sheets, your back arching, trying to press into him, trying to take him even deeper.

"You’re gonna come again, aren’t you?" Joel murmured against your sweat-slicked skin, feeling the way your walls squeezed him tighter, your body locking up, every muscle trembling beneath him. One of his hands slid under you, finding your clit easily and starting to rub slow circles using two thick fingers, "Gonna give me another, baby? Gonna let me feel you?"

His hand slid up, his fingers brushing over your throat, tilting your face to the mirror.

"Look at yourself." he said as his hand wrapped around your face, thumb pushing into your cheek and fingers digging into your jaw as he brought your gaze up to meet his.

Your eyes met his, glassy and fogged, your lips parted, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps as he ground into you, holding you still, keeping you stretched full and helpless beneath him.

"You see that, baby?" he whispered, his fingers tightening at your jaw, keeping you there, keeping you watching, “See how perfect you look takin’ my cock?”

Joel thrust deeper, grinding his hips against your ass, rocking into you, making sure you felt every thick inch stretching you, keeping you full.

“You know, my brother can pretend all he wants," Joel growled, driving into you harder, making you feel it, making you take it.

"But this pussy’s mine now," he snarled, his fingers gripping tight at your jaw, making you watch yourself begin to fall apart on him.

"Was mine the second you came on my cock last time, wasn’t it?" he rasped, thrusting deep, holding you full, his fingers grinding slow and taunting against your swollen, sensitive clit.

"Go on," he growled, fingers and thumb gripping your jaw, sliding one up to press firmly at your lips before pushing past them, hooking into your mouth. "Say it."

Your breath hitched, a muffled coo spilling around his thick finger.

“All yours, Joel,” you whimpered, voice broken, wrecked, helpless.

Your words turned into a sob, your thighs shaking, your body locking up as your orgasm tore through you, your muscles clenching down tight around him, your walls milking his cock, dragging him even deeper.

Joel groaned, his head tilting into your neck, feeling you pulse around him, trying to pull him in, hold him there, keep him inside you.

You heaved in breaths, trembling beneath him, as he released his tight hold on your face, your head met the bed, too wrecked to hold yourself up.

Joel followed you down, face pressed into your shoulder, holding you still as he thrust once more, deep and final, his body locking up as he filled you, spilling inside you, holding you down, making sure you took all of it.

He stayed there for a long moment, panting, his breath warm against the back of your neck, his body covering yours completely.

Joel didn’t move right away.

His breath was ragged, hot against your sweat-damp skin, his weight still pressing heavy over you, pinning you down, keeping you filled, stuffed, claimed.

His arms caged around you, his chest pressing into your back, the lingering aftershocks of release making both of you twitch, shuddering in the same unsteady rhythm.

But as the haze of it ebbed, something else crept in.

His own words, thrown into the thick air like a brand, still hanging there.

My brother can pretend all he wants.

This pussy’s mine now.

Was mine the second you came on my cock.

Joel exhaled slowly, eyes pressing shut, realization sinking into him like a heavy weight.

Jesus Christ.

He shouldn’t have said that.

He’d felt it—deep in his chest, in the pit of his stomach, in the way you clung to him, the way you let him take and take and take like you needed it just as badly. But saying it? Letting those thoughts slip out, low and raw and real—

That was something else entirely.

His grip loosened, fingers flexing where they’d held you too tight, his body finally easing up, lifting off you, just a little. Enough to give you air.

His mouth hovered at your shoulder, his breath still uneven, before he forced himself to speak.

"I’m sorry," he breathed, voice rough, thick with something he didn’t want to name. "I… I shouldn’t have—"

“Joel?” Your voice was weak, soft, barely above a breath.

And when he looked up at you, your eyes were open just a little, sleep-heavy, a small, lazy smile tugging at your lips.

He swallowed. "Yeah?" he asked, voice gentler now.

You sighed, shifting just enough to settle deeper beneath him, your body still pliant as you rested your head on your arms, "Don’t ruin it."

Joel stilled.

You breathed slow, eyes fluttering as exhaustion pulled at you.

"It’s okay. I won’t say anything if you don’t."

Something in his chest tightened, and for the first time since the haze had lifted, he let himself breathe.

Joel exhaled slowly, eyes tracing over your face—soft, spent, utterly at peace beneath him.

"Okay." he murmured finally, voice low, rough, unreadable.

And with that, he let it be.

tag list: @alidiggory92 @pinkylouise @izzy698

[illbegottenfaith]

only getting married

the news of your engagement is a surprising and off-putting thing. good thing theo recognises it as the cry for help that it is. (theo nott x reader)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

a/n - I had well and truly moved on from this series but after watching the season 6 finale of House I got the idea for this fic which sets up perfectly for a part 4 of the reader's wedding so!!! and even tho theres no happily ever after (yet) it'll be coming soon in part 4 :))) also thank you sooo much for 600 followers ahh (one of these days I'll do a follower celebration...eventually......)

tropes/warnings - smug theo, mildly dickish theo, slight angst

word count - 2.3k

taglist - @allie-sturns @hzdhrtss @friedfreyfries @bushnellswife @rose-of-the-grave @thaliashifts @pariahsparadise @babene-e @fratbrochrisgf @ebriton @gemininormouzz @isabeebee

Theo had promised Mattheo he wouldn’t come here.

After Mattheo had let the news of your engagement slip over drinks, Theo had barely reacted—at least, not in any way that suggested he cared. He’d made some offhand remark about how he hadn’t even known you were seeing anyone, then smoothly led the conversation elsewhere, as if the information was nothing more than a passing detail.

But the thought had stuck.

You weren’t the type to settle. You weren’t the type to rush into things, least of all something as final as marriage. And yet, suddenly, you were engaged? Something wasn't adding up.

It didn’t sit right with him.

The next morning, he found himself here - standing outside your door, fingers flexing around the dry parchment of a bouquet of flowers he couldn't remember bringing. His head throbbed from the one drink too many from the previous night, and the dull daylight of the cloudy day was still a little too bright for his eyes.

What was he even doing here? What was he going to say to you? Make small talk? Congratulate you? Euch, that sounded horrid. No, he was better off staying far, far away from you.

The door swung open before he could turn back.

You blink up at him, still in your socks, hair tousled, dressed like you’d spent the morning puttering around your flat with no real plans for the day. You look comfortable in your well-worn sweatshirt, one that seems somewhat familiar. At the sight of him, you raise your eyebrows, lips parting in surprise.

“…Teddy?”

Theo paused. Something flickered across his face. He knew that sweatshirt. Why, he'd know that sweatshirt anywhere. It was his, after all. Well, sort of. It was a sweatshirt he’d lent you ages ago and had long since assumed was lost or discarded. But here you were, standing in front of him, wrapped up in it.

It's an achingly familiar sight. He remembers you wearing it, back when you were still dating. He remembers what it was like, peeling it off of you. It feels like no time has passed at all. It feels like you're still sending him off with a kiss every morning, still yelling at him for tracking mud into your spotless apartment. Still his number-one supporter.

It feels like you still love him.

Meanwhile, you're too busy being distracted by the flowers. You look back up at him, brow arched.

“Someone die?”

Theo lets out a short breath. Not yet.

“No,” he says instead, voice even.

You frown, eyeing the bouquet again.

“Then what’s with the flowers?”

His jaw flexes.

“Congratulations.”

You stare at him blankly, still just as clueless.

"Whatever for?"

He groans internally. He can't believe you're making him say it.

"Your engagement," he forces out, with some difficulty.

It’s out now. There’s no taking it back. He wonders if the words sound just as foreign to your ears as they do to his.

You hesitate, just for a second. It's long enough to catch his attention. Theo tilts his head curiously.

You give him a tight smile. “News travels fast.”

“Mattheo,” Theo confirms.

You sigh. “Of course. That gossip.”

Theo proffers the bouquet, which you awkwardly accept. The two of you stand there for a beat longer, drinking in the sight of each other, neither of you wanting to be the first to bid farewell. You stick your head out above the flowers.

"Tea?"

Your flat is familiar in some ways. Warm, lived-in. There’s a blanket draped haphazardly over the arm of the couch, an magazine facedown on the coffee table, the scent of coffee still lingering in the air. It’s littered with fragments of you, through and through.

But there are things he doesn’t recognize. A set of shoes by the door that aren’t yours. A jacket slung over the back of a chair, too big to belong to you. A framed photo on the bookshelf, half-obscured by the angle, but clear enough for him to pick out an unfamiliar figure standing beside you. Little details of a life that he has no part in.

His stomach knots.

“Nice place,” he says, tucking his hands into his pockets. His voice is even, casual. Just two old friends catching up.

He cast his eyes around restlessly. That's when he sees it.

A book. One he left behind years ago, sitting among a small stack on the coffee table. He couldn't have paid you to read it while you were together, but it looked as though you had more than made up for that in the time since. The pages were slightly dog-eared, the spine creased in ways that tell him it’s been picked up and read more than once.

It’s almost enough to soothe the dull irritation creeping up his spine. Almost.

You move through the space with easy familiarity, reaching for cups without needing to look before you fill up the kettle at the sink.

His gaze flickers downward briefly. Still no ring. He bites back a smirk.

“So...when’s the big day?”

Again, you hesitate. It’s barely noticeable, just the smallest hitch before you say, “Spring. Though you shouldn't feel obliged to attend.”

That hesitation - it lingers. It settles somewhere deep in his chest, promising to not give him a moment's peace until he gets to the bottom of it. He scoffs lightheartedly.

"And miss the happiest day of your life? Hard pass."

He feels rather than sees you roll your eyes.

“Spring," he echoes thoughtfully. "That's not far off. You sure that gives you enough time?” Why are you rushing into this? is what he wants to ask instead.

Even from behind, Theo can see your shoulders stiffen fractionally. You sweep some of your hair out of your eyes.

“We’ll make it work.”

He studies you, taking in the way your fingers fidget slightly at your sides, how you won’t quite meet his eyes. Theo files it away. He shouldn’t push. Shouldn’t let himself slip. But the words are already there, pressing against his teeth.

“Right,” he murmurs. “Well, I hope he knows how fucking lucky he is.”

Your brow furrows slightly.

“He does.”

You switch the stove on. A quiet murmur fills the silent apartment as the water heats up. You take a seat at your kitchen island, nervously watching Theo peruse your trinkets.

"So what brings you here? Decided to check up on me?"

He smiles briefly. He puts down the snow globe he had been particularly interested in. “Something like that,” he says easily. His gaze shifts, taking in the space. “Figured I should see how you’ve been. Considering.”

You glance at him, skeptical. “Considering what?”

He meets your gaze. “Everything.”

There’s a pause—just long enough to make you uneasy.

You shake your head, turning back to the tea. “I’m fine, Theo.”

He hums, noncommittal.

You don’t believe for a second that this is a casual visit. Theo never just stops by. But he hasn’t laid down anything solid for you to push back on - just vague, careful words brimming with hidden meaning.

Still, something in your chest tightens. He’s watching you too closely, listening too intently, examining your apartment too carefully. But why did that make you so uneasy? You weren't hiding anything. There was nothing to give away.

You watched him for a moment, not entirely hating the feeling of him being in your apartment once again.

Was there?

“So,” he says after a moment, “how’d he manage it?”

You frown. “What?”

“Your fiancé.” The word rolls off his tongue too easily. “The proposal. How’d he do it?”

You put your mug down.

“Why?”

He shrugs. “Just curious.”

Your grip tightens around your mug. You’re not sure what it is - the casual way he says it, or the fact that he’s never 'just curious' - but something about the question feels pointed.

Still, you answer, after a measured sip of tea.

“It was… simple,” you say. “Just the two of us. At home.”

There's an unscrupulous gleam to his eye. “Romantic,” he says with a subtle distaste, as if he thinks it's anything but.

You bristle under his tone, narrowing your eyes.

“It was romantic.”

He nods, slow, like he's humouring you. “Right. Of course.”

You inhale sharply, setting down your mug a little harder than necessary. “What exactly are you trying to say, Theo?”

He feigns innocence. “Did I say something?”

Your jaw clenches. Because, of course, he hadn’t. Not directly. He hadn’t actually said anything critical, hadn’t questioned you outright. Yet.

But he didn’t need to. You’ve known Theo long enough to understand what he’s doing. The carefully placed words. The deliberate pauses. The way he phrases things just so, like he’s laying a foundation for you to unravel the rest on your own.

You hate that it’s working.

“Theodore, whatever you came here to say, just spit it out.”

He raises his brows, all innocence. “I’m just making conversation.”

Your lips press together in a look that tells him you're dangerously close to getting very, very pissed. Your little patience thins.

“What is your problem?”

“I don’t have a problem,” he insists, something sharper in his voice now. He sees the glimmer of irritation in your expression, the tension in your shoulders as you pour yourself more tea, not bothering to offer him any. But he keeps his voice casual.

“I was just thinking it’s… interesting.”

You place the kettle back on the stove noisily.

“What’s interesting?” you challenge.

He gives a small, nonchalant shrug.

“Just..you know."

"No, I don't know, actually."

His lips thin into that irritating smile of his, like he knows something you don't, but he likes watching you try to figure it out.

"You. Getting married. Playing house.”

He leans against the counter, gaze drifting around the kitchen.

“I mean, you never struck me as the type,” he muses in an artificially nonchalant tone. “You always liked your independence. Liked keeping things on your own terms.” He glances at you, expression unreadable. “It’s just… a bit sudden, don’t you think?”

Your breath catches, but you don’t let it show. You knew this wasn’t just a social visit.

“Not really,” you say, tone clipped. “But I suppose it’s sudden to people who haven’t been paying attention.”

Theo tilts his head slightly. “I pay attention.”

Something shifts in your expression. Your eyes darken. "Do you, now?" you mutter scathingly. “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

"It means this isn't something that will make you happy."

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he knows he's fucked up. Your eyes glint dangerously.

"This might be a foreign concept to you, Theodore, but my world doesn't revolve around you. I'm happy with my relationship. I'm happy with my decision to marry my fiance. "

Outside, he keeps his expression neutral. Inside, something dark and restless stirs. You’re lying. All the while, you rave with years worth of pent-up frustration.

"I can't believe I was considering inviting you to the wedding," you were saying to no one in particular. "I can't believe I ever thought you could actually be mature about this."

You spun around and glared at him.

"Is this what you think of me, Nott? That I'm just sitting around all day, sighing, waiting for you to come around and give me a reason to break things off with my fiance? To free myself from the shackles of my wretched existence? Honestly, Theo. Do you think I'm hopelessly unhappy without you?"

For a moment, Theo forgets why he's here in the first place. He forgets that you're engaged. All that he's aware of is that he's standing on chilly, linoleum flooring he thought he'd never see again, watching you demand to know what you thought of him, and that he wants to answer you. Yes, he wants to say. He did imagine you as hopelessly unhappy without him.

It was the only way he could rationalise how hopelessly unhappy he had been without you.

Your expression tightens. “You’re being a dick.”

His jaw clenches. "All I'm saying is the Y/N I knew - ”

“Don’t.”

He ignores you.

“ - would never let someone like him be the best she could do.”

Your pulse spikes, white-hot anger flooding through you.

“You don’t know him - ”

“I know you,” Theo says, voice sharpening. “And I know you don’t love him.”

Your fingers twitch. Theo sees the way your throat bobs as you swallow, the way your lips part like you’re about to deny it - like you want to deny it - but nothing comes out.

He presses on, voice lower, quieter. “If you did, you wouldn’t be...inviting me in. Looking at me like that. Waiting for me to give you a reason to walk away.”

Your stomach twists violently. Your temper snaps.

“You cannot be serious,” you say, voice rising.

It’s a lie, you repeat in your head, over and over again. It has to be a lie.

You let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh. “You are so unbelievably arrogant - no. No way. You don't get to do this, Theo. Not anymore. I'm done letting you do this.”

He arches a brow. “Do what?”

“This,” you snap, gesturing between you. “You find every excuse to keep me from moving on. You can’t stand the thought of me settling down, because that would mean you’d have to let me go. It's why you're at every corner I turn. It's why our names are still strung together after all these years. It's why you came running to me when you needed a date to Mattheo's wedding.”

Silence. Thick, suffocating silence. You wish Theo would say something.

When he doesn't, you say, hollowly, “There's no conspiracy here, Nott. It’s not weird. Not a mystery. I’m only getting married.”

Theo swallows, breath uneven. It's a miserable thing, hearing it straight from you. This whole visit, it’s the first time he’s heard you say it. The first time he’s let himself truly hear it.

You’re getting married.

And it’s not to him.

He nods. Once. Curt.

He turns, walking to the door.

You don’t stop him.

[glowettee]

I need help asap! So it’s exam season we all know and I keep on asking my teachers for a list of what I need for the test like a list to go home and study and they said no like what is their problem and I have no idea what to do😭please help Mindy not to sound desperate but your like my idol so you would know what to do right 😭

✧˖° my guide to studying when your teacher won’t give you a study guide

hi honey, i love you sooo much <3 thank you for your sweet wordsss, i'm alwaysss, alwaysss here for you, feel free to message me personally or give me more asks in my tumblr inbox! i'll even help with specific subjects.

okay, angel. first of all, i hear you. the frustration is real. teachers saying "just study everything :)" like we don’t have other classes, responsibilities, and, i don’t know, lives?? but listen. this is not a dead end. this is just an opportunity to prove that you can outsmart the system and study better than they ever expected. you’re not desperate, you’re strategic. and i have a plan for you.

step 1: reverse-engineer the test ✧˖°

if they won’t tell you, we’ll figure it out ourselves. here’s how:

➼ look at past tests & quizzes: what kind of questions do they ask? multiple choice? short answer? do they repeat topics? most teachers have a pattern. find it. ➼ scan your syllabus: even if it’s vague, the syllabus outlines what the class prioritizes. highlight major units or chapters. ➼ revisit homework & classwork: if they spent three days drilling a topic, assume it’s important. if a concept was barely mentioned, it’s probably not a focus. ➼ check online study guides: sometimes other students post study guides for similar classes online. search your course name + study guide. you might get lucky.

step 2: ask strategic questions ✧˖°

okay, so they won’t give you a study guide. but what if they accidentally reveal what’s on the test through very calculated questions?

instead of "what’s on the test?", try: ➼ "Would you say Unit 3 is as important as Unit 4?" (forces them to compare importance) ➼ "Should I focus more on definitions or application-based questions?" (gives insight into question type) ➼ "Would it be smart to review [insert topic] in detail?" (watch their reaction, they might hint at its relevance) ➼ "Is there anything I should specifically know how to apply?" (if they hesitate, it’s probably a big exam topic)

play it cool. teachers love acting like they’re withholding top-secret info, but they also love hearing themselves talk. guide the conversation and let them give things away.

step 3: crowdsource the study guide ✧˖°

if your teacher won’t make one, you will!! but you won’t do it alone.

➼ group chat strategy: text your smartest classmates and propose making a study doc together. ➼ class notes audit: everyone checks their notes for key topics they remember being emphasized. ➼ compare tests from other classes: if another teacher teaches the same course, their students might have hints.

you’re basically forming an underground academic intelligence network. the government should honestly hire you.

step 4: predict the questions ✧˖°

teachers aren’t as unpredictable as they think. most reuse question styles from past years. so let’s outthink them.

➼ scan the textbook’s review questions – many teachers pull questions straight from these. ➼ turn subheadings into questions – if a textbook section is called “Causes of the French Revolution,” turn it into: “What were the causes of the French Revolution?”➼ spot repeated terms – if a word/concept appears in your notes/textbook over and over, bet money it’s on the test.

step 5: prioritize the 80/20 rule ✧˖°

80% of the test will come from 20% of the material. instead of trying to memorize everything, (i'm guilty of this) target the most testable topics.

➼ concepts that connect to multiple lessons = high priority ➼ big themes or formulas your teacher emphasized = high priority ➼ random minor details with no context = low priority

this is how you actutallyyyy study smarter, not harder.

step 6: try active recall ✧˖°

highlighting? rereading? sweetie, no. your brain needs active studying. i know you've probably heard this in every 'study' video, blog, article etc, etc.. however, this really works. even when i create my own study methods it all connects to active recall <3

➼ flashcards, but reverse: instead of term → definition, write the definition and force yourself to recall the term. ➼ blurting technique: grab a blank sheet and dump everything you remember. then check what you missed. ➼ teach it to an imaginary class: if you can explain it, you actually understand it.

these methods force your brain to retrieve info, which is the key to remembering it under stress.

step 7: adapt your study style to the test format ✧˖°

different tests require different study techniques.

➼ multiple choice: focus on eliminating wrong answers. make “why is this wrong?” your key question. ➼ short answer: practice summarizing concepts in 1-2 sentences! brevity matters. ➼ essay tests: prep key arguments and supporting facts in advance. don’t memorize full essays. memorize structured points.

step 8: last-minute study hacks ✧˖°

running out of time? try these:

➼ listen to a recording of key concepts before bed, your brain absorbs info in your sleep. ➼ write down the toughest concepts before the test. dumping info on a paper beforehand eases recall under pressure. ➼ do a “cheat sheet” exercise. write what you would bring as a cheat sheet (but don’t actually bring it). the act of writing it out solidifies memory.

🖇 mindy’s personal tips ✧˖°

✨ don’t panic. adapt. undetermined students say, “i can’t.” A+ students say, “how can i?” you are an A+ student.✨ treat it like a game. teachers want to gatekeep? fine. you’ll outsmart them instead. ✨ trust your brain. if you’ve prepped strategically, you will recall what you need. confidence is half the battle.

📝 homework: apply these NOW ✧˖°

i loveeee giving you all homework! i made a little checklist for you to start right now <3

☐ start a study guide (even if it’s just bullet points) ☐ test out the “strategic question” technique with your teacher ☐ identify three high-priority topics to focus on tonight ☐ practice active recall (explain a concept to yourself out loud) ☐ reply below or message me: what’s your biggest exam struggle?

final note: you are not helpless. you are not at the mercy of your teacher’s vague instructions. you are capable, smart, and strategic. you’ve got this. and i’ve got you. i know you will do well on your exams, just belive in yourself and all that matters is if you pass, you don't need a 100/100 on your exam to be an A+ student. just trust yourself <3

💌 now go ace that test! <3 ilyy

xoxo mindy

[cosmerelists]

Favorite Video Game Genres of Cosmere Characters

As requested by @thesternest :)

1. Silence

Silence: Don't know why, really, but I like casual games, games that are just like real life. Silence: Something about doing your daily life, but in game form--very relaxing. William Anne: Uh, mama? I think "Silent Hill" is a survival-horror game. Silence: It is? How so?

2. Marasi

Marasi: [Looks around nervously] Marasi: I...well, I like first-person shooters. Marasi: I-I just like to pretend I'm in the Roughs, like Wax! Marasi: I don't want to be Wax in real life or anything, but...it can be fun in a game!

3. Dalinar

Dalinar: In real life, war is a terrible necessity. Dalinar: In games, war is fun. Dalinar: ... Dalinar: I like tactical RPGs.

4. Vin

Vin: Huge fan of platform games. Vin: Jumping from ledge to ledge, controlling my speed and trajectory, occasionally swinging from hooks or managing double jumps... Vin: It's just like moving through the city as a Mistborn! Elend: Your high-score is RIDICULOUS, Vin! Vin: I'm also REALLY good at it.

5. Yumi

Yumi: I wasn't allowed video games for a long time, but now that I can play them... Yumi: [eyes sparking] I've become a HUGE fan of visual novels! Yumi: It's like Seasons of Regret, only *I* can be the one making the choices!

6. Leshwi

Leshwi: Like many Fused and Singers, I find myself quite taken with Rhythm games. Leshwi: Now that it is no longer appropriate for me to fight the Windrunners, I do like to challenge them to Dance Dance Revolution instead. Kaladin: OH COME ON I DEFINITELY HAD THAT Leshwi: I always win.

7. Steris

Steris: I used to think games were a waste of time, but then Wax introduced me to these construction simulators. Steris: My city is a paradise with excellent infrastructure, logical layout, and plenty of greenspace. Wayne: You should try to mod that makes a tsunami hit your city! Steris: Oh please, I beat that mod yesterday on my first try.

8. Navani

Navani: Recently, I've gotten into Tower Defense games. Sibling: I can defend myself, thank you very much.

9. Vivenna

Vivenna: Love a good roguelike. Vivenna: It's something about trying it over and over again until you're perfect. Vivenna: The victory is sooo sweet when you've worked hard to achieve it, dying many times. Siri: Oh me too!! I especially like Hades--the art is AMAZING. Vivenna: (scoffs) You mean a rogue-lite? Siri: I'm telling you--you should try one! Getting powerups in between runs is pretty sweet. Vivenna: Hedging out a difficult victory after hours of blood, sweat and tears is also fun! Siri: If you say so...

10. Lightsong

Lightsong: Soooo addicted to Candy Crush. Lighsong: Can't even tell you why. Llarimar: Perhaps your divine eye is drawn to the bright colors. Lightsong: Whatever makes you feel better, Scoot.

11. Adolin

Adolin: Lately I've become completely engrossed with life simulators. Adolin: I make my character get up, make breakfast, go to work, go on dates, learn the piano... Adolin: WHY IS IT SO ADDICTING?? Shallan: This may be a sign that your actual life is incredibly stressful and the allure of a simple, daily life is drawing you in? Adolin: No, that doesn't sound right... Shallan: You want to date a bisexual vampire? Adolin: ...That could be it.

12. Rlain

Rlain: I'm quite taken with these cozy farming games. Rlain: You just build a nice farm, meet the villagers, explore around. Renarin: Rlain, please, it's been six hours! Rlain: Just one more day...

13. Tress

Tress: I've been enjoying survival games! Tress: It's fun to gather and cook and build a base! Tress: A little bit unrealistic, because the rain doesn't make anything explode, but I guess they wanted to make it easier than real life, not harder.

14. Shallan

Shallan: It has to be MMOs for me. Shallan: I like a game where I can do pretty much anything I want. Shallan: Advance the story, collect every type of mushroom, fill in the whole map... Shallan: Plus, I like leveling every class and giving each one their own outfit and personality. Veil: You named the rogue after me, I see. Shallan: It's a compliment.

15. Kelsier

Kelsier: There's only one type of game for me: and that's a game where the name of the, uh, game is survival. Kelsier: And I especially like it when you have to survive as a team. Kelsier: Especially against great odds--like lots and lots of real-life players. Kelsier: Yup, yup. Kelsier: It's all about Fornite for me.

[sweetieviktor]

jealous! sevika x bartender! reader (headcanons + tiny scenarios)

summary: while working at the bar, a guy is being inconvenient. luckily, a jealous sevika takes care of him.

content warning: slightly spoilers of season 1, arc 2 and 3, the guy is harassing reader (it is not sooo explicit but if you dont feel comfortable with this dont read it, please!!), little violence (just a punch) and a bit of blood. be warned, be safe!

author notes: i loved doing this request and, as my first one, i hope this is good. btw here is almost 4am and i haven't slept yet (i promised myself that i would write something on the weekend and i did it yey), so there may be a lot of typos and things like that but i can't think properly now, so yep i will post it as it is now, no proof read, no nothing. wish you guys like it!

» in the late night hours, the last drop was more agitated than ever. in every corner there were people talking, smoking, playing and drinking the drinks you made and poured in their cups again and again.

» working in such a crowded place was like hell, specially today, it looked like all of the lanes came to the bar at the same time. but you were well paid, you couldn't complain much, well, not now that a guy was just about to tip you.

“hey, pretty thing,” the weird man waved his hand to get your attention, smiling creepily at you when he finally got it, “would you get me one more of these?” he raised his glass mid air to make his point clearer “i can pay you well...”

» you knew the risks of his proposal, but money is money, and so is job, and you needed it bad now, things in the lanes never were this difficult, but since the enforces forced their troops in, making money was even harder.

» so you did as you were asked. picked up the bottle from behind the counter, walked to his side and poured in the glass a dose of the liquor. he placed a few more coins than the drinks price on the table and you smiled politely, picking them up.

» in between cards, a certain someone was already watching you from afar, waiting to step in if the man tried to do something that could possibly harm you. she was silco's right-hand, a regular at the lost drop and nothing more. just another sometimes flirty customer, but unlike him, she was respectful with you.

» when you turned your body so you could put the bottle back to its place, the man called you. again. and now she was on full alert, almost forgetting about the cards game she was playing.

“pretty thing, you forgot something! you still haven't told me your name, right? i want to know you... better.” the way he was eyeing you, your body, was making you sick and all you wanted to do was to punch him now, and sadly you couldn't.

but someone could. and she did.

even before you registered what was happening, the tall woman was already at your side, almost shielding you from the man's view, burning eyes looking directly at his soul. “if you ever come here again, i swear to you, the chances of you being alive are zero, you understood?”

“b-but ma'am i did nothing!” his nose was bleeding almost comically, but she still kept her composure, holding the man's face in place, so she could punch him again if needed.

“i've asked you if you understood!” she slammed down her mechanical hand on the table, raising it again, her voice full of rage.

“yes, ma'am!” she released him, and he runned away from the bar, shrinking and muttering “sorry's” at you both again and again.

“and you better never try to talk with them like that.” she shouted so he could still hear her words, jealousy dripping in every one of those. when she looked down on you, your pretty eyes were already shining while you looked up at her.

“thanks. for defending me.” you offered her a little smile, a genuine one, and she offered her hand, which you gladly shaked.

“no need to thanks. name's sevika.” she said, displaying a smirk on her so pretty lips.

“sevika... a beautiful name for an even more beautiful lady.”

» you didn't know her well, and neither did she, but maybe this could be a start of something.

[luneemeritus]

"pilot Stolas was better!!" no, he wasn't.

"bring pilot Stolas back!!" no ❤️

You want an evil, manipulative, abusive villain with little to no redeeming qualities that is a Goetia and has cool powers? We have two of them: Stella and Andrealphus. If it's only about the 'asthetic', a character doesnt have to be evil to be cool, Stolas's demon form and powerful moments are already amazing, and although he's powerless now, I'm pretty sure he will get his status back at least for a while to make a badass scene.

What the Hellaverse doesnt lack is amazing villains. If critics were so much better and creative than Vivziepop, they wouldn't turn a complex, well written, well designed and well acted character like Stolas into a boring Valentino 2.0 just because the pilot version seemed creepier. Lmao Stella is literally what all of Stolas's haters claim to want, look how well they're handling her. Seriously I've seen people saying that Stella needs a sympathetic reason to be a fucking abuser, but when Stolas (not an abuser) has sympathetic reasons to be who he is and do what he does, it's suddenly not okay.

Stolas is the only character I've ever seen who: sacrifice his life to his lover, and is still called "selfish" and "not enough for Blitz"; is seeing being abused by his wife since EP2-Season 1, even singing about how his life with her was miserable yet he remained strong for his daughter, and people will still claim that Stella turned out to be abusive "out of nowhere"; is forced to marry someone he doesn't love, is abused by said person, spent years alone and enduring that misery, and when he finally chooses to stay with the one person that never abused him, he is an "evil cheater"; sacrifices his own safety and happiness to make his daughter safe and happy, and ALWAYS — always — take accountability when he fails her (or when she thinks he failed her) as any good parent would do, and still be called a bad father (addition: forced to have said child but loves her anyway🤡). Just say yall alergic to character development.

I lost the Tiktok now because I blocked OP, but the big argument about "how much pilot Stolas is better" is a lie basically: canon Stolas, (abuse survivor, has the best development of the show alongside with Blitz, a loving father who remained strong for his daughter), is a "loser" (also a twink in a derogatory way, which is funny like, just say the f slur, we know that's what you mean🤡 specially calling a male abuse survivor "coward" and "loser" lmao like we know), while the pilot Stolas is a "manipulative, inteligent, cold villain" uuuuh no he wasn't lol hate to tell you dude, Pilot Stolas wasnt an evil interesting genius that was sooo intimidating, nah he was just creepy and honestly as funny as the canon one. Yeah you just hate the gay owl being well written. Pilot Stolas has 2 minutes screen. Canon Stolas has two seasons of development, he is the better one, I'm pretty sure people who say this don't even remember half of the pilot.

So it's not really about Stolas's actions, or mistakes, or him being a good or a bad person (he is a good person). He could be the most perfect, excellent, flawless victim, the 'wokest' most self aware pure angel, it's still not enough. Because it's not about him, it's about a version of him that never came to be but haters love to whine about it.

[timebom]

thoughts while watching episode 2! ☆

summary: necessary amount of love for jinx, unnecessary amount of child hate lmao

oh my baby girl i love u it's ok don't be sad please

jinx focused episode let's gooo

me: omg was that a flash of powder?!

*rewinds*

me: ...who the fuck is that.

me: oh no. oh no. this kid is important enough to make it to the intro, jinx is going to take care of this child isn't she. that sure is... a choice

oh no the kid is here

ugh for me personally the only thing worse they could have done is make her pregnant or have a baby. i hate storylines like this im so sorry. it's different when the parent-child relationship is like the main focus or the premise of the show/movie (the mandalorian, the last of us, the walking dead game, silco taking care of powder who's the main character), but when a random ass child shows up years late to the party and needs someone to take care of them and the child character has no previous connection to the audience... i really dislike that in stories im so sorry. leave jinx alone

also, in what world is jinx ready to be a mother figure to anyone lmao she's very much stuck in a child-like state herself half the time. this is not what she needs, we both deserve better

i like the child's design though

honestly, i hope arcane makes me take all that i just said back, but we'll see

jinx i love you

her voice is so good, the voice acting is sooo good oh my god

does she kinda have a different vibe or is it just me?

honestly thought she would be doing a lot worse than she is. good for her!

don't get me wrong, i get that from the orphan's point of view jinx just saved her life and she's clearly super strong, what else is she supposed to do than follow

what i'm saying is that i personally do not want jinx to take care of a child right now. i want this to be about the sisters. the fact that i don't like this is on me, the writers can obviously do whatever they want with their story buuut.....

sevika<3

can't wait for her and jinx to team up

wait does sevika even know that jinx was the one who killed silco?

i don't know what's going on with viktor and whatever he's saying here is not helping

did she though?

everything viktor does now is so slow. the way he speaks, the way he moves...

im not a jayvik girlie but i imagine that those who are felt rly sad after this scene

ekko my boy! the biker mouse from mars can speak?

my brother: he really does look like one

i literally facepalmed and my brother groaned

ekko please ditch this creature you're better on your own

shut up. you're not cute, you're not funny.

i should probably clarify that heimer is my least favourite character in the show, i kinda have no patience for anything he does 😂

i literally said DO IT JAYCE out loud

this made me laugh

same, ekko, same.

can we talk about the way he's holding the cup lol

it's also kinda funny and kinda sad at the same time that this is probably his first time tasting tea

SHUT UUUUPPPP

i screamed

vi? nooo, what the hell 😫 i thought it was the bad guys after her but no it's VI? don't hurt jinx like this, don't hurt me like this

the animation is making me feel like i'm the one who can't breathe damn

hasn't my girl been through enough?? stooooppp

this looked really cool though

there's no way those were the only two times he saw her cry

also, she's insane, blinking and getting even closer. i am obsessed with her

YESSSHHHH

after getting her ass kicked by vi and jinx repeatedly in season 1, i have a feeling this is a battle she's finally going to win 😆

the whole-body movement she did here, so cute, i love her so much 😭

GET JINXED OMG!!!!!!!! 💙💙💙💙💙

holy shit you can always trust arcane with fight scenes

my brother: no one does fight scenes better than arcane.

me: i know right?! that was so good! best scene in season 2 so far!

brother: yep.

oh wow ok. girl, 1st of all, ew. 2nd of all, that thing was like 80% machine what was there left for you to eat? 3rd of all... this begs the question, what do these people eat, exactly? do they draw the line at cannibalism but everyone else is fair game? huh.

i doubt the people in piltover eat like this

no, let's not do that<3

what is he, jesus? this is a bit too much.

[sobx9]

My five favourites Jiara fan fiction stories (because why not)

I would like to give the biggest kudos to fan fiction writers, especially in the Jiara fandom. Seriously, some of the works in this fandom are sooo good and we, fans, really appreciate you! Especially now, when the ship has basically ended in the show, it’s comforting to go back and read works where Jiara is happy/has a happy ending.

I envy you for being able to write that well. I have so many ideas, story lines, even dialogues for JJ and Kiara in my head but I am really struggling to write it all down. I am trying to write my first fic right now but it’s not going well at all.

Here’s my top five:

around the world - RaeOfFrickingSunshine - @rae-of-fricking-sunshine

This one is a no brainer in my head. I read so it many times. The way it portrays them falling in love over the course of their “surf” trip, there’s something so real in this about how falling in love with your best friend can look like. I also love the other topics, JJ’s strained relationship with his father, Kiara’s issue with food and body image, the bond between the Pogues. Honestly a master piece that I could talk about for hours. Only issue? There’s not more of it. Yes, there’s a part 2 which is as good as the first one, but I would honestly die to have the first part told by JJ’s perspective with more scenes from their trip.

This “rant” from Kiara is still stuck in my head, because it’s so heartbreaking and true.

“You don’t know why I’m mad? I’m mad because Pope gets concerned when I walk alone at night in Berlin – one of the safest cities in the world. I’m mad because some guy feels entitled to my body when all I’ve done is dance with him. I’m mad because whenever I say I’ve got male best friends everyone assumes I’ve fucked you all. I’m mad because everyone says be careful and oh are you wearing that out as if it’s going to be my fault that something happens to me, even if it’s someone else doing that thing. I’m mad because me changing what I wear doesn’t stop that bad thing happening, it just makes it happen to someone else. I’m mad because I’m thinking what if I did do something, did I ask for it.”

baby i'm not even in a gown (the way you want me make me want you now) - RoseofWinterfell - @whitetrashjj

Honestly, I had a hard time picking out my favourite work from this author, they are all pure gold. But at the end I decided to go with this one. It’s shorter, light hearted, smutty and so much fun. This author writes the characters so well in all of their pieces, better than the show itself in my opinion.

Firsts- piglemousse - @piglemousse

Another great one and with much better story line for them after season 3 than what we actually got. I am a sucker for stories with them travelling the world.

the benefits of being under the influence(r) - noos - @kiekiecarrera

AU one, but JJ and Kiara are so in character in this. It has the enemies to friends with benefits to lovers trope which is always fun and is just beautifully written.

Enemies with Benefits and Beach Houses - Lis4 - @lis4ux

Another enemies to lovers one that’s currently being written. Big kudos to the author for keeping up with it during the season 4 fiasco. It’s something I look forwards to reading every weekend.

There’s so many more out there and it was very hard to pick only five. Thank you again to you authors for creating beautiful works to read!

If anyone wants to share their favourites, please do not hesitate. Or come scream at me about Jiara and OBX (well maybe not scream, I am a sensitive one)

[mostmagical]

reading year in review

posting this at the behest of @bittersweetresilience... 1-2 of my favorite fics that I read for each month of the year

I’m not tagging anyone in this other than mutuals who happen to be on the list because I DON’T KNOW. this is SCARY. I’m just a girl. what do I know about anything.

01 JANUARY

Graine de toi by MireilleTanaka (Miraculous Ladybug)

Ladybug and Chat Noir think they’re close, until they begin waking up in one another’s skin. AU: Adrien is homeschooled, and he and Marinette have never met

Body swap AND Never Met AU fic based loosely on Kimi na wa that lived in my head for ages. @blur0se sent this to me when we were just little baby new friends because she thought I would like it and she was exactly right because I loved it.

In Pursuit of the Uneatable by @nemaliwrites (Miraculous Ladybug

In a Paris where Lila weaves tales that blind the city, Marinette stands accused, isolated. Her parents' trust is shattered, her friends distant, and in battle, illusions blur the line between ally and enemy. As the shadows and uncertainty threaten to close in, Marinette finds herself turning to the last person who claims to be on her side: a boy in a white mask who calls himself a fox hunter.

This fic is so good and we are all blessed to have a chance to read Nemali writing… I feel awful because I still need to finish this fic but I think about it all the time. Nemali’s prose and Lila characterization, and just the general concept– AGH. Top tier.

02 FEBRUARY

never been in love by bittersweetResilience (Miraculous Ladybug)

Félix wonders if he has a heart. If he does, it doesn’t beat like that.

I love ace spectrum characters I love Sunny writing I love Sunny ace spectrum fic… Made me cry.

03 MARCH

watership down by bittersweetResilience (Miraculous Ladybug)

“Of course we get along.” Emilie’s hand reaches over to slip into Amélie’s. As always, her fingers loosen as soon as Amélie has reciprocated the hold. She swings their hands in a carefree arc between them, looking into the woods ahead, relying on Amélie’s grip to keep them linked. “We’re soulmates. No secrets between us.” Amélie and Emilie, through the years. A non-linear narrative.

This fic is sooo good you guys. So good. GAH. Sunny writing + Sunny Amelie and Félix, and complicated family relationships, and pretty prose and WATERSHIP DOWN. It feels like a coming of age film in your head.

Season of Giving by The_Rabbit42 (Miraculous Ladybug)

As Christmas draws near, Adrien and Marinette want to find special presents to give their partner and… other partner. Combined with Adrien rediscovering what Christmas is without his parents, Marinette getting sick, and Alya and Adrien becoming closer friends, it's sure to be a memorable holiday.

Honestly, this year, March was one of my lowest months for a lot of personal reasons, and I happened to stumble upon this Christmas fic and it just made me feel better.

04 APRIL

Maybe This Life by @coffeebanana (Miraculous Ladybug)

"Adrien's in the hospital." Woken in the dead of night by a series of frantic phone calls, Marinette finds herself boarding a bus from New York to Montreal instead of flying home for winter break. Not that she has a clue how she'll navigate living with Adrien—who definitely wants nothing to do with her since the break up—for the indefinite future. Adrien just wants to find the energy to convince Marinette he's fine—that she can leave. Because having her here hurts too much, and he's better off alone. At least, that's what he tells himself. They're an ocean away from home, stuck together in a one-bedroom apartment, in a city suffocated by snow. The distance between them has never felt so insurmountable. But maybe there's hope after all.

MTL fic… Sad, awkward exes fic. And CoffeeBanana writing. What more could you ask for in life…? So excited to see more of this unfold when Kayla is finally free from deadlines…

05 MAY

again. I didn’t do anything in May because I was 100%-ing ME3. and it ruined my life. (/pos) anyway. Mass Effect fic dump now

06 JUNE

picture perfect (get your head out of the sky) by luffia (Mass Effect Trilogy)

The logic of attraction is awful, and realising you have a thing for your undead human best friend who technically outranks you makes it all ten times worse.

This is just so funny. Jack torturing Garrus by pointing out his attraction lives in my head forever. Perfectly executed feeling of Oh. and then Oh no.

Beating Like A Hammer by skybound2 (Mass Effect Trilogy)

Garrus doesn't know if she is real, or a hallucination, but when Shepard storms back into his life on Omega, he finds that he doesn't much care. He just knows that he's not letting her go again, not if he can help it.

Shepard staying with Garrus and sending the other two squadmates to close the vents during his recruitment mission. Who would I be if I didn’t have at least one Omega fic on here. Be real.

07 JULY

it makes sense that it should hurt in this way (that my heart should break – and my hands should shake – ) by calypsid (Mass Effect Trilogy)

When Garrus gets home to Palaven, he finds something in his luggage he doesn't remember putting there himself.

I cannot explain to you how often I think about this fic. It’s short and sweet— Shepard isn’t even really there, but it’s just a fic that sticks with me so entirely. I actually need to go back to it because I think I was still lurking in the fandom and I probably didn’t comment, which is an absolute crime.

the view between by @bbutterflies (Miraculous Ladybug)

Adrien is standing at the front doors of the mansion. It’s abandoned now, though it doesn’t look much different. It feels safer somehow. He hates himself for thinking it. Father was a hero. His eyes burn and he fights away the guilt. Father was a hero and it doesn’t matter what else happened before because he’s gone. All Adrien has of his parents is the twin rings on his hand.

I've only read a handful of Post-S5 fics, but I read this one and it hit sooo well. It’s so sad and haunting and such a lovely peek into Adrien’s brain.

08 AUGUST

大鱼 by bittersweetResilience (Honkai: Star Rail)

It feels like lightning, the thrust of the spear through him. The same lightning that crackles at his fingertips, that arcs up his spine, that dances over his skin like fireflies in those winedrunk memories. Bandaged hands and bleeding ink and a hundred thousand fragments of abundance and destruction. or, Jing Yuan lets go of these seven hundred years of dreams.

Well of course. I gotta. The Renjing character study of all character studies (I’m unqualified to say this). I love this fic because first of all, Sunny prose is always beautiful, and second of all, Sunny loves this fic. I love what Renjing did to your writing. I love that you started writing more fluff and AUs and reading Chinese fic, and I know this fic is a big part of the journey. I loved reading it.

Well. Fuck. by quondam (Mass Effect Trilogy)

When he least expects it, Garrus finds Shepard at the door of his apartment on the Citadel, looking for a place to spend the night. Set between ME1 & ME2. Prompt called for a fill on humor & sex.

This is my favorite Shakarian smut. I don’t read a TON of smut. But I love this one. SO much. Amazing humor. Post-ME1, pre-ME2, with a very in-character Garrus. And I love that awkward ME1 Garrus.

09 SEPTEMBER

Marked Introductions by Feynite (Mass Effect Trilogy)

The words on Shepard’s forearm are… not in English.

I love the world-building in this fic and specifically the thought put into the turian language aspect. They even used phonetics… I cheered in my bed with my Bachelor’s degree. It’s actually bookmarked with a note that just says “LINGUISTICS” because I got so excited.

the light that throws itself on everything by @asukiess (Miraculous Ladybug)

the light that throws itself on everything, stretching twice, at dusk and again at dawn, agrees to stay, but only for a while.

This is it. The fic that revived my love of poetry. The reason I write fandom poems now. It’s everything… It’s the light… The light throwing itself on everything… Tragic. Gay. Poetry.

10 OCTOBER

Observations Upon Waking by interventionsandlullabies (Mass Effect Trilogy)

A collection of moments in which Garrus wakes up and takes in his surroundings. Some better, some worse. Some best.

I adore this author’s internal monologue for Garrus so so much. Cathartic post-ME3 fic. A little sad, but then a lot happy.

11 NOVEMBER

Edge of Yesterday by @that-wildwolf (Mass Effect Trilogy)

The war is over and Shepard's still alive. Except she doesn't really understand what war everyone is talking about, or who half of these people are... The last thing she does remember is the Normandy blowing up over Alchera. Which apparently was a few years ago, and things had changed a lot during that time. She doesn't even know which bothers her more: that everyone wants her to be someone she's not, or that Garrus has been strangely distant ever since she woke up... TL;DR: Shepard survives but loses all her memories since her death in ME2. Shakarian angst and regular angst, all mixed up together into a nice hurt/comfort cocktail. Despite the scary tags this has a happy ending.

I think I’ve been pretty loud about how much I love this fic, but why not be a little louder. This is probably my favorite fic I’ve read this year. I cried so many times, stayed up so late reading some nights, and I still think about it all the time. Some of my absolute favorite tropes done exceedingly well, and just all-around wonderful character moments. And I even made a friend out of reading it, so I doubly win.

Change Starts With Today by ThatWildWolf (Mass Effect Trilogy)

From the records of Doctor Marta Domańska, professional psychiatrist specialising in trauma: 2188, one year since the conclusion of the Reaper War. Patient admitted to psychotherapy: turian male, 25 to 30 years old, shows signs of deep-rooted psychological trauma. Admitted to therapy after losing a loved one; patient classified as high-risk. Advised course of action: continue psychotherapy and monitoring patient's state. Prescribe mood stabilisers if needed.

I would be remiss not to include this. A lovely little companion piece to EoY with an amazing Garrus character study and a very lovable OC. Makes my heart ache all over again. Reliving the magic, really.

12 DECEMBER

dreamt a cipher by @milkywayes (Mass Effect Trilogy)

Her own personal Noverian peak. That’s what it was supposed to be. Nothing but the discovery: no distractions, no comfort, no windows looking out—no familiar faces. But it's starting to look like her winning streak might have ended in that pile of Citadel rubble, if it ever extended that far to begin with.

Another fic that has been on my radar forever but I didn’t read until the end of the year. So sad, but also such great humor and such a compelling mystery that it all balances out perfectly. Wonderful world-building, incredible characterization, and honestly? Jealousy-inducing prose, it’s so good— so much so that I’m almost embarrassed to tag milky but I have to… milky deserves to know…

Tomorrow's Light by ThatWildWolf (Mass Effect Trilogy)

Garrus asked Shepard to move to Palaven with him. Things are looking up and rebuilding after the Reaper War is well underway, but loneliness and pain take their toll nonetheless. An examination of life and love in the wake of incredible trauma, of a galaxy torn apart and put back together, through the lens of two people. [Post-canon, Shakarian, equal parts fluff and angst.]

Am I the luckiest girl in the world that an EoY follow-up fic was published the month after I read EoY? I think so… This fic was lovely and cathartic and I love the way Wild gets into their brains…

[em-harlsnow]

saw someone say (on tiktok where all bad opinions are) that frank was much better than monica as a parent because he stayed.

okay? and???

he stayed, sure. (barely, considering most of the time he was at a bar or on the street or at Sheila’s) but sure, we’ll say he stayed.

when he ‘stayed’, did he help anyone? did he look after his kids? did he contribute to the bills?

no, he didn’t.

what he did do was hand Liam over to drug dealers who he made a stupid bet with in season 1. what he did do was headbutt ian in the face in season 1. what he did do was convince Debbie to help him get monica out of a mental institution in season 2. what he did do was destroy Debbie's project for school in season 3. what he did do was hand his own kids over CPS because he was pissed they wouldn't let him in the house. what he did do was let his random friends piss in the corner of his child's room. what he did do was encourage carl to become a drug dealer. what he did do was convince carl he had cancer. what he did do was use carl's sperm to get a mentally ill person pregnant with like five kids. what he did do was leave his kids to the care of Fiona. what he did do was verbally abuse every single one of his kids. what he did do was steal money and food from his own family. what he did do was tell carl to his face that he wasn't ever going to be or do anything.

but that's just him as a father, right? and ive seen people say that frank would have wanted to be a good father, that he really tried, but he was an alcoholic so couldn't help it and/or monica made him the way he was.

first of all, monica did not make him anything. monica is a separate subject, I'll get into it some other time. but she didn't make him a bad father by leaving, there are plenty of good single parents, even though it's harder.

these are the things frank did to people who weren't his kids, proving he's just awful in general, as a whole.

he killed dottie and tried to take her money in season 3 I believe. he manipulated sheila, using her mental illness to his advantage and tried to make her relapse. he sexually assaulted monica when she explicitly said no and was heavily depressed. he fuelled his depressed wife with drugs and tried to make her seduce his own brother so that he could get his mother's inheritance money.

for the people who still justify frank, I'll give the very short list of all the decent fatherly things that he did.

he took the fall for carl's drug thing, claiming it was him who did it. he looked after Frannie okay, I guess, even though he didn't take her to school when he was meant to. he said a pathetic little thank you to Fiona before she left. well done him. he didn't rat out Ian when he went AWOL (altho he may have actually not known who Ian was). he was at Ian and mickey's wedding (although by force) and was not homophobic (well done, that makes it all better). he didn't say anything about mickey being gay.

at the end of the day, the list is pathetic. he did nothing. most of it is him literally doing nothing, like him not ratting out mickey. he probably did that to save his own skin, too, from Terry and from mickey. Ian, too.

in summation, I haven't even listed every bad thing frank has done because there are sooo many and I can't remember them all. therefore, he's a huge piece of shit and was not a better parent because he stayed. thanks for listening to my ted talk.

[naminiza]

SPOILERS

holy fuck act two came to kill.

MADDIE AND CAITLYN??? CAITLYN YOU WHORE

jinx saying "you kind of remind me of her (vi)" just broke my heart.... but also proved my first prediction half right(?)!

JINX IS DEAD????

ambessa saying "how could i not secure the scientists" honestly is so life changing to me bc before she was all around strategy and combat... but looks like she can also think about them. maybe it's more "how could i not secure the only people that know how to use hextech (the weapons i want to use)" but it's still nice to see she values brains just as much as brutes. + it shows self reflection skills and i think that was important for everyone to see — no, she DOESN'T think she's always right (like it kind of seemed in s1), she can see and admit when she was wrong

also wasn't rictus the traitor? i'm pretty sure that got revealed/foreshadowed hard in episode 3... maybe this is just a prediction and i'm just tweaking though (this is being typed as i watch the episodes, so if it's revealed in act 2, it's after i type this). + we've seen lots of misdirection in season 1 so it wouldn't surprise me if it was teased and then it ends up being maddie or something

jinx using >w< on one of her inventions is something i didn't know i needed but absolutely needed. yes girl go kaomoji queen !! it girl shit, iconic.

IT WAS ISHA PRETENDING TO BE JINX???

"why is peace always the justification for violence." 1) this is so accurate to our current real world and i'm so surprised (in a good way obviously) that ARCANE of all people said it before anyone else. and 2) the ambessa & mel / ambessa & caitlyn parallels are SOOO. like i expected it, it was a pretty common (as far as i'm aware) prediction, but ughh.

"so i'm thinking—" "NOOOT your strong suit." i'm deceased someone send help

also it's been 28 minutes since the episode came out and i'm only 15 minutes in because i keep stopping to type these ... choices have been made and i regret none of them

"you want a symbol?" *flips her off.* *sees she has no middle finger TO flip her off.* *groans*

how did that even heal??? girl???

hi at the part where caitlyn visits her mom's statue or whatever WHY is a CANDLE treated with MORE care than a ZAUNITE???

omg they added ekko to the wall and set down candles because they think he's dead arcane do not make me sob. i will

ohhh the hallucinations are BACK FUCK YEAH this is my favourite part of arcane and it's so much better now omg

ROAAASSSTTT OH MY GOD "YOU EXPECT ME TO BELIEVE JINX, THE MASTER CRIMINAL, WEARS PANTS LIKE THAT?" OH I'M OFFERING UP MY SOUL CACKLING WITH HYSTERIA THAT WAS A WORK OF ART. (also that was pretty miles morales coded icel)

"powder?"

i am deceased. no one contact me. i will not be recovering for the next eternity.

notes! what the fuck!

(i'll be watching episode 5 now, I'll post again when i finish that one)

[court-jobi]

Sneak Peek: Just Be Gentle pt 2

Gif credit by @javier-pena

I am SO delayed in this, but WIP Weekend it is! Recommended by the lovely @djarins-cyare, thanks friend!

I have not visited my drafts folder in sooo long, but I'm coming out of an unintentional writing hiatus and have fresh motivation to open the ole lappytop back up for a little sample to share. Part 1 of this fic was much beloved by yall apparently, so it continues here!

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x reader

Words: 1.9K (for now)

For my Star Wars | Mandalorian Masterlist, check it out here!

Paz watched the scene before him unfold; the heat of compassion bloomed in the gut like stoking a fire…

Din Djarin swore on the deed of his ship that he wasn’t exaggerating. He placed a flag solidly in her camp, and would go to arms for her as a returned gesture of loyalty. From that first meeting when the Hunter came back through the alcove to Nevarro’s covert, he spoke on his companion’s competence on several fronts. Namely, in all the ways that resonated with his people: creative thinking, handy know-how, and something more: empathy- a gift not to be ignored when it came to caring for others -himself included- in moments of high stress. 

He praised her talents ‘all across the board’, citing moments in their brief stint together on the Razor Crest as testimony to his Mandalorian clan for her to remain there in shelter– to be the exception to their rules regarding outsiders. Aruetti. 

A surprise to none, Paz Vizsla deemed that it would be up to him to judge such loyalties for himself; as a man more inclined to view actions as proof rather than words. 

But then he met her. Every bit of what Djarin said was true. Better yet, she proved every assumption of his wrong: allowed her to take him by the crook of his arm, surrendered her best vote of confidence, and let him lead. Acquiesced to his strength, protected it, and encouraged him at every turn. Saved him the first of her meals, the best of her scavenged findings. Took to tending to his wounds herself, because he wasn’t gentle enough to do so on his own.

A few weeks have passed since that day, but his fondness for her didn’t wane like the moon’s phases did. Paz Vizsla made it his mission from that moment forward to carry an extra ounce of gentleness, just for her. 

Then, the refugees came pouring in. Her arrival couldn't have been timed more perfectly, Paz thought; he’d only begun to see the full measure of little Song’s magic the moment he saw her skills at work. 

A smaller covert made a quick exit and raced to safety after a raid depleted their stores a few systems over. There had been some rumors of their hunter clans taking the bait of Guild membership in order to make ends meet, as they’d seen in Djarin’s success. The Way instilled a sense of belonging wherever Mandalorians crossed paths, so merging on his covert’s territory for the upcoming season out of necessity was a given.

But now, in light of Nevarro’s storm season, it seems their numbers would be doubling indefinitely. The situation proved to be a strain and test of everyone’s flexibility and resilience, to keep everyone content and organized on such short notice… but with a Vizsla as Alorad, they flourished with the change in plans and watched on as Paz steeled himself against Fear, and made everything suitable. Supplies were rationed and rooms were stuffed to the brim, but they would make do.

While they may not have resources with them in tow, they more than made up for it by pulling their weight in preparation for the underground shelters. And that, would benefit all. 

Song made herself indispensable, true to what Djarin had said. Moreover, she did so with caring smiles and solemn assurances to the migrating Mandalorians -young and old- who felt very out of place. To those men who lost their way in the bustle and found themselves turned around in the tunnels, she would give quick pointers about where to go– and thanked them for their service to the clan, each and every one. 

Learning fast. Paz was grateful.

Upon nightfall, there was less commotion than normal. As the common spaces gradually funneled down, bedchambers were lit and sealed for the night. For the most part, it was the heads of families -adults- who went to rooms for the night as a chance to let down and get their heads on straight after such a sudden move. Surely not all slept right away, but took to tending to their armor and delving into their meditation practices.

 Meanwhile, their children under ten or so were sent off to the creche where they could be watched over. The community room was next to the medstations, and as kids are often ones to complain of very little bout of aches, pains, or simple snotty noses, it was the logical choice. 

Two crechemasters stayed in the spacious alcove of the Medbay annex overseeing the creche, as well as one of the resident tribe’s kitchen aides, a few men as guards near the entrance and supply doors… and a certain someone -with a voice like the Coming of Spring- that Paz Viszla could never refuse pausing for a minute to listen….

Clearly tugged by the soft spot within him, Paz volunteered to serve first watch over the children for their first night, which made their parents feel that much more assured of their protection. So with blankets pulled from every corner of spare storage, canvas mats laid this way and that, and with juvenile excitement despite the circumstances, the children all got to sleep and the staff interchanged periods of rest until all was quiet by the early waning hours of morning. Even the covert’s local young ones came to join this slumber party of sorts. For the sake of welcoming and strengthening bonds, the crechemasters allowed it. 

Right after the 0300 guards changed out, Paz heard it. Inside the alcoves inset bunks, one of the smallest boys -nearly four years old- was making a steady and increasing amount of noise, until he startled himself awake and clearly didn't know where he was. He was calling for his babuir in their native tongue; but by his aimless flailing about, it’s clear he’s looking for just about anyone bigger than him that might come to his cry for help.

Before Paz could overstep one of the sleeping children nearest him to respond, he caught the woman he'd know to know as the 'Songbird of the Covert' slipping out of the window jumpseat like a sparrow off its perch, flying to the child's stuttering form up on the riser.

"Well hi honey, g'morning to you too~ Pretty early, isn't it?"

Seeing a soothing figure coming to his call, little threadbare arms immediately shot out and spoke brokenly in bits and pieces of a particular Sundari dialect. Basic wasn't his strong suit. Then again, it gave way to crying in minutes anyway, so his distress was clear and the language barrier mattered little.

"Hm?-- ohhh, aw c'mere bub..” the woman set the child on a hip as he clutched to her. She set them in a sway, “Yeah, you can stay up with me– I can always use some snuggles, too."

The toddler nuzzled in but by his whimpers, Song moved towards the open atrium with more room to walk around and hopefully not disturb the sleeping of any others. 

Paz met her there. She'd looked his way with a pitiful expression, traipsing about with the little one in her arms and keeping his little shoulders pressed in close.

"Bad dreams, I'd say," she murmured low to Paz, in Basic. "But I can't tell if anything else is wrong. Doesn’t feel too warm, not coughing. Seems trusting though, poor thing. " she shrugged, motioning to how easily the child was settling.

Through his careful watch of her across the room, he’d caught her sneaking the back of her hand to his forehead earlier in a move masked as just fixing his curls, but fortunately, he must not have been found feverish to warrant more worry. 

Paz came to bring a big, steady hand on the child's back. The kid turned his head from her neck to find the new Alorad tilting his helmet to match, and  made a big sniff to put on a brace face. Shy and no doubt aware of this elder’s importance, he snuck out a little wave back in acknowledgement.

"//Be at peace, young one. You're safe in the Reliable one's arms, that you are.//"

Whatever Paz said to this "adika" -as he seems to have called him- brought relief to the child, as he hugged her neck tighter and made himself comfortable again in her arms.

An amused whisper graced his ears as she looked up at him,

"What'd you say?"

"That he has nothing to worry about," Paz shared kindly. "He seems to like you."

 "I wouldn't think these kiddos would trust strangers so easily after what they've been through," she smoothed back the child’s hair gently- thankfully, his breathing evened out into sleepy sighs.

 "They've had quite the eventful last few days."

She kept humming away for a minute, trying to subconsciously lull the child the rest of the way. She looked absently over the nursery if other young ones, but Paz was captivated by her alone.

This instinct must have been what Djarin was talking about. She hadn't hesitated to jump right in, even though she must have been on the edge of sleep herself- if her state of dress was any hint. Shed opted for no outer protective layers for this reason perhaps- a source of comfort for the little ones, and though perhaps it was also to signify to them she was not a warrior or someone too formal for them to shy away from.

Finally seeing the child dozing back fully, Paz offered to take the child from her and set him back on his bunk above them.

 She let him, adjusting her loose cardigan back onto her shoulder. Shed opted for that over her cropped black body glove that acted as a breastband, and the loose comfy pants that honestly have fit Paz better, but she made do with her current wardrobe and didn't bother worrying about outfits too much.

Here, just over his shoulder, she watched the Big Blue tuck -yes, tuck- the child in. Stepping away only when he saw the child try to settle into his new sleep position did he step away and back towards her retreat to her watch corner.

"Teacher and carer? You're the dual package, Mr. Vizsla."

"I do what I can. It's not often I get to see our children be children- I would preserve that wonder in them if I could."

Childlike innocence: to hear the hardest-working, stoic soldier speak on such tender things was a thing of wonder itself. 

“I’ve only ever seen the little ones work their drills here– recitations, history lessons.” She looked about the room. “I haven’t seen kids this young in a year, much less so many crammed into one room.”

“Well, the rooming arrangement is common practice,” Paz explained, his trademark patience a soothing constant- even through the helmet, “You’ll find a nursery like this in every covert across the galaxy.”

Then, a more sobering thought, one that brought pity to the forefront of her mind:

“If– you weren’t all living down here, would they be going to a normal school? Making other friends? At least while they’re young?”

As if she expected any other answer, Paz’s reflex came through the form of his gentle whisper: “This is the Way.”

“That it is,” she firmed up a knowing smile. “There’s so many of them, going through so much newness at their age.”

Paz agrees, though knows no other way than the community that sleeps before them. To watch the woman’s empathy radiate from her being -those angel eyes- was to know the warmest ray of sunshine in the pit of winter. Such a calm presence… that’s what these youth need, after all. She’s exactly where she should be.

[that-birdy-chick]

Part 2 of me rambling about s8 of hawaii five 0

Live commentary

ep 6

- did-did Danny really just organize an intervention for Steve? To make him take better care of himself?? I don't know how to feel about this

- Lou really just said "Steve listen to your husband, he loves you" spoken like a true married man

- kinda gotta agree with Dog, not your finest move Danny

- so can we all agree that Danny losing his mind a little over Steve's radiation poisoning is kinda like the whole Steve losing his mind over Danny retiring thing but in reverse?

- I think Steve has never looked more stressed than with this stress counseler person asking him about his sexlife right in front of danny

- awwww now the end of this episode is in my top 3 favorite heart to hearts these two dorks have ever had

- Danny being honest about being scared that Steve isn't taking his radiation poisoning seriously to the point it keeps him awake at night and steve replying that he's scared too but that he doesn't want Danny to change because he loves him the way he is and that he does take things seriously URHGH

THE GROWTH! The genuinely healthy communication! I'm so proud of them 🥹

ep 7

- no no no what is going on between adam and kono? My breakup senses are tingling and I don't like it

- I swear the way Adam and Steve's conversation in the car went is so "let's talk about our respective marriages" coded

Like honestly it's so blatantly obvious - they are literally paralleling mcdanno to kono and adam ffs

- hey and come on adam you too? Why does everyone need to shit on the restaurant thing

- haha Steve is mad people he cares about just walk into a dangerous situation without backup - I love how this season confronts Steve with his own behavior

-hmm l don't know how to feel about Lou literally deleting evidence to protect tani, really most of their shady "police work" really didn't age well

- damn Steve killed a cop, that's definitely gonna fuck with him

- love how Lou is looking out for everyone, he just is the team grandpa

- sooo adam is gonna join five 0 right? This is what all this is about isn't it?

- I swear I am trying to care about junior and tani and what's going on with them but Idk so far I haven't really warmed up to them

ep 8

- eyyy Danny is back and calls Steve babe within 1 min into the episode? This can only be a good one

- nvm I swear to God Steve if you crash land yet another plane-

Seriously dude? Haven't you learned your lesson from the last time?

- naww Danny is so proud of Steves character development, sure hope he isn't gonna do something dumb and risky and ruin it again

- okay so tani and junior huh? They're definitely gonna be a thing soon aren't they

- the dude was killed because he was hiding from a drug cartel that he snitched on and fled with the drug lords daughter, I swear all these people always have the most dramatic backstories

- aaaand steve is doing the dumb reckless thing, Danny my guy I feel you're pain, he is so done with his shit he doesn't even yell at him anymore

- Danny is such a fucking saint, Steve almost went and got himself killed AGAIN and all he cares about is being last and danny husband of the fucking year just goes "yeah yeah you did well let's get a beer maverick"

- okay tani and her brother are kinda cute in their peek sibling behavior, I feel bad now for calling her a kono replacement, girl is much more than that

ep 9

- damn love Jerry's new haircut

- I will never get tiered of Danny and steve bickering about the restaurant, I know they are setting it up to fail but I genuinely think this could have been a good thing to eventually end the show on, like a retirement thing, but oh well

- aww I love Danny trying to comfort neolani with something Steve told him, only to have it backfire and make him anxious again

- pfffff and tani and junior sit in the far back like literal children

- oh great we're doing the biological warfare stuff again, this should be fun

- so they only have 8 hours to live? sounds like a prime love confession set up to me

- love our respective couples comforting each other, have to say tani and junior are doing a way better job tho like seriously Steve "try not to die while I take this call okay?" that's the best you can do, seriously?

- and of course Danny's all time stress response is to bitch about or at Steve, stellar coping skills all around

- omg danny did not just say-and steve didn't - OMG is it actually-

-nvm of course it's a fake out, damn it after 7 season why do I still keep falling for this shit

-the little restaurant talk Danny started to distract Steve and himself with was pretty sweet tho

- hey, wait why is Danny the only one definitely close to death? The others all seem relatively fine

- and of course Steve has to go and needlessly risk himself, so junior has to safe both their ass's instead of him just doing it on his own in the first place

- excuse me people why are there not more fanfics about the crew stuck in quarantine together?? this shit is hilarious and has so much potential for angst!

Please if anyone has some great fic recommendations send them my way please!

-no come on Danny, Steve didn't wanna upset you! That's honestly a pretty mature thing given the situation you were in, and now their arguing

- poor tani and junior they be stuck with these two idiots for a long time

- I could really see tani, just snapping at them after two days to either kill each other or fuck it out already, because their whole shebang is just exhausting for everyone

ep 10

-AHHHHH they finally opened the restaurant!? Progress!

- why does the screen look weird? Please don't let this be a dream type thing

- "Right now grandma Williams is smiling down at you" awww Steve, that is so sweet🥹

- nooo it's a dream thing 😭

- love how everyone makes fun of Steves near mental breakdown haircut, really dude it looks terrible, why does no one stop him?

- wow you really gonna give em kids the judgemental stares for flirting? Steve Danny as if you're any better

- and of course they're getting jumped in freaking quarantine

- really the dude went through all that trouble, just to kill Danny? And didn't even try aiming for the head? amateur

- aww Danny imagining grace wedding, my heart <3

- Danny is hurt, Steve is freaking loosing it, I'm so here for this

- Lou really said "sir, you better have a plan soon because if you don't Steve will come up with one, and only God can help us if that happens" I love you so much Lou

- huh so Danny thinks Charlie will be a cop? That's interesting

- awww and of course Steve is there, sitting next to him like a good husband, and the rest of the ohana

- nooo Danny being there for kono and adams first kid, that is so wholesome 😭

- Steve is straight up having a terrible time, while Danny has some idealistic feverdream about the future, this is so fun

- excuse me Steve you fingering your husband does absolutely not make you even for the liver thing, you nut

- so there gonna blow up a bomb right next to another bomb? Sure that seems reasonable

- yes Lou! Get the sledge hammer!

- poor Eric, don't worry hun we still have 2 seasons left to go Danny will be fine

- no NO you cannot- you did not just show me that while Danny's dying the last thing he hallucinates about is having grown old with Steve 🥺

- "and if I could do it all over again I wouldn't change a thing" I'm done, this is it, that line just killed me 😭❤️

- excuse me, Danny is dying and you people are choosing NOW to tease Steve about his stupid haircut? Seriously??!

- yes everyone copes differently I guess, but when Steve's life was on the line no one was joking around is all I'm saying

- yes Danny Steve saved your life by fingering you, deal with it XD poor Eric is scarred for life

- love Danny genuinely getting some love for once, this was a good episode

[f1mariee]

What drives me crazy is that sooo many people are saying that Lando has the fastest car and only two wins. Fair point BUUUUT where is Oscar in all of this if he is so much better than Lando ? Lando has 4 pole positions this season and 2 wins. Oscar has zero !! pole position (which is crazy in the fastest car :)) and 1 win…

And don’t come at me „Oscar is just in his 2nd season“ Lewis also started to win immediately:)

i just hate how they ALWAYS focus on Lando, it’s crazy…

[girlacticrailroad]

fragrance of the first flower season 2, episodes 7 & 8

Xiao-Ning knows the way to a girl’s heart is through her DAW.

It’s getting harder and harder to write about Fragrance of the First Flower every week, because my reaction is always pretty much just: Yes!!!!! Yes, these episodes did exactly what they needed to do, and yes, they did it beautifully. This week, though, in between all the “yes!” moments, there was also plenty of “ooof.” I hope y’all like pain, because Episode 7 might be the most heartbreaking one yet. And this is not a show famous for going easy on the heartbreak.

Regrettably neither of these men is a licensed therapist.

This week the writers had the difficult task of making us sympathetic to Yi-Ming again, after her obliviousness and bad communication last week pushed her relationship to the brink of collapse. And, wouldn’t you know it, they succeed. First, they convinced me that Yi-Ming truly is a lost little lamb. She’s not naturally an affectionate person, and her relationship with her ex-husband certainly didn’t teach her how to be one. All this “having a girlfriend” business is new to her, and she is clueless, and bad at it. And, as a person who takes pride in being competent and self-sufficient, she hates that she’s bad at it. Second, despite being presumably well-off, Yi-Ming is in some ways more vulnerable than Ting-Ting is. Unlike Ting-Ting, she doesn’t really have friends, and you sense that she’s probably not great at making them. When Ting-Ting is going through it, at least she can crash with Xiao-Ning, or one of her bandmates, or her mom. Yi-Ming doesn’t have that kind of support. Her closest non-romantic relationships are with her son, her ex-husband, and her boss. For various reasons, none of these people is an ideal friend-substitute.

Your tasty treats don’t fool me, parasite!

If I have any complaint, it’s that I think maybe we are meant to view the cool lesbian CEO as a good friend…? I’m still unsure. And that ambiguity isn’t a bad thing—I’m probably just extra-wary due to “corporate feminism” and girlboss fatigue. Sooo, less a complaint, more a question: How are we meant to view her? We’re invited to sympathize with her fertility struggles, and she’s the only person in Yi-Ming’s life she can talk to about her relationship problems. And her advice isn’t...terrible? For the most part, but, then again, she’s also the reason Yi-Ming impulsively buys an expensive gift that is, in the end, worthless.

The writers were on some O. Henry shit with this...

I feel like I could spend paragraphs talking about this gift, because it’s such a crystal-clear encapsulation of what makes the storytelling in this series so special. What the gift is doesn’t actually matter—we only see it for about two seconds—because what the gift actually is is Yi-Ming’s love. Is there a more perfect symbol for the agony of loving someone without being able to express it? She carries this gift bag around with her everywhere waiting for an opening, for just the right moment to show that she cares, but it never comes. And even if the right moment did come, she still has no idea how her gift would be received. Ting-Ting might not even like it! And so the gift stays in the bag, hidden, where it not only doesn’t do Ting-Ting any good, but torments Yi-Ming with the knowledge that her love is useless. She has paid—is paying—a high cost for something that benefits no one. It’s devastating.

“A better metaphor than Pluto” is my “better love story than Twilight.”

The bar stools are an equally powerful symbol, and I like how their meaning has evolved since Season 1. At first they were all symbol—pure teenage hopes and dreams. Then, in Season 2, they became solid objects in a shop window, just as Ting-Ting’s dreams were finally becoming an attainable reality. But as soon as she buys the stools, and has the life with her crush that she’s dreamed of since high school, what they represent shifts again. Now that “dream life” is a burden and a threat to her real life with Yi-Ming. It’s only fitting that when she moves out it’s Yi-Ming who wants to hold onto them. Ting-Ting has left her dreams behind, and it’s Yi-Ming left clinging to the hope of a future with her. But these aren’t the sparkling hopes of high school. They’re heavy, and a pain in the ass to carry up the stairs. If she really wants that future, she’s going to have to work for it.

Get you a gf who can jam with the band.

Okay so I guess I do still have lots to say about Fragrance of the First Flower lol. And I haven’t even mentioned the scene where Xiao-Ning sings a solo guitar version of the opening theme—ostensibly for a promotional video—and Ting-Ting hears the lyrics, maybe for the first time, or maybe it’s just the first time she’s really paid attention, and realizes it’s about her. Dear readers, I was shook. I might have cried a little. If someone sang like that for me I’d be an absolute goner.

With just four episodes left, I still have no idea how this season will end. Again, the power of good writing, folks. We are beyond blessed. The finale isn’t for another two weeks, but I’m already mourning the loss. I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself when this show is gone.