#you all are sincerely making me hate this damn ship

[zorosroronoas]

romy fans who call rogue a 'whore' & other misogynistic shit, i wish you all a very go fuck yourself.

it's absolutely mindboggling to me that remy can be in other relationships & be shipped with everyone & their mother & no one bats an eyelash, but rogue has to be there for remy & remy only. makes me fucking sick.

[toutvatoujoursbien]

midnight thoughts (i hope i don't regret this)

Let me preface this by saying that these are just (very, very long) ramblings I’ve had in my head over the past few days and are MY opinions. I never post to Tumblr, but my level of emotional unhinged-ness right now needs an outlet so that I can process everything and feel, well, less unhinged.

I have never been this enamored with any celebrity or promo for a show like I have for this season of Bridgerton. Admittedly, I am a fan of the books and Penelope & Colin are my favorite couple. I’m going to age myself by saying that I read the series almost 20-ish years ago; past me could have never imagined I would actually get to see a Regency romance on my screen. Romances are for the girlies, and what the girlies like tends to be mocked, ridiculed, and not taken seriously - I’ve seen this time and time again across many different fandoms. I also really enjoy the tv series for being its own creative adaptation. I’ve liked many (though not all) of the changes they’ve made to the show; and I’ve liked all the little nods to the books that have been sprinkled in. Are the books or show perfect? Of course not, but that doesn���t mean I can’t love them for bringing me some entertainment and joy and escapism. I think that’s the beauty of it, I get to have the best of both worlds, so to speak. And for me personally, it’s been so fun to watch the press coverage over the past six or so months. As a fandom, I think we’ve been EXTREMELY well fed. 

Having Nicola and Luke as the leads has been a true blessing; I think/hope folks can tell how much they clearly love and understand their characters/roles. I know everyone has been talking nonstop about their chemistry and their close friendship, which I think is beautiful, truly unique and special. How can you not enjoy watching two people, who seem to genuinely like one other, talk endlessly about a project that they love and have poured so much into? And the way they have supported one another, not only during promo, but during their years of friendship? Astonishing, really. So while I am old enough to know better than to ship real people, I would’t blame anyone (myself included) if they got caught up in the whirlwind excitement and couldn’t help but wonder a sincere “What if?” (At least that was the case for me.) Isn’t that the beauty of hope and possibility and potential? Like, I knew rationally and intellectually that the likelihood of them being together was low, but damn if I didn’t feel giddy seeing their interviews, reading articles, and watching video after video.

“Oh, but it’s all PR!” they cry. Maybe, but like most of life, I don’t think it’s so simple or clear. I think there’s been a lot of nuance and perhaps some blurring of the lines during this promo tour. As long as we are respectful about it and realize that at the end of the day, the only opinions that matter in regards to their relationship are N & L’s, I don’t think some lighthearted dreaming is unheard of. We have to remember, though, that what we’re shown is only a fraction of their true selves, carefully and deliberately curated to accommodate their status as actors/celebrities/those in the public eye. 

(And yes, I know this is the internet and therefore everyone has an opinion - again, myself included. But I struggle to understand why some people think that their opinions should be deemed THE most important to the discussion or would have an impact on any type of outcome, especially in this particular scenario… I hope it’s obvious I’m referring to the very vocal people that chose to expend their energy in hateful, negative ways. Aren’t you exhausted?

However, as a longtime lurker, I have to admit it’s been absolutely fascinating reading all the different perspectives and takes on this too. I think reading other POVs and seeing people articulate points that challenge me and make me think is a good thing - again, as long as it’s all in a respectful manner. 

Also I have spent literal years curating and cultivating a social media bubble that doesn’t make me want to cry or give up on life. I don’t seek out negativity and hate - constructive criticism for a thing is a different matter. It may be “putting blinders up,” but honestly, real life can be a shitty enough place that I would like to spend my limited time online looking at cute things and learning or reading about stuff that makes me feel less alone in the world.)

Last week, I stayed off social media to avoid Bridgerton spoilers until I could watch Part 2. I did open Twitter on Thursday to check on something that was entirely unrelated, saw the absolute meltdown of a shitstorm brewing and quickly NOPED out of it. (I was also reminded of why Twitter scares me at times. And I'm not calling it X because that is stupid.) When I finally caught up over the weekend (both with Bridgerton and… all the other stuff 😅), I felt like I was experiencing mental and emotional whiplash.

Look, ultimately, I don’t know them personally and know even less about their private lives. As an outside observer (even though, yes, I have a vested interest in them), Nicola is fucking amazing and Luke seems to be a nice, sweet guy. I think they are each others support, and it has been mentioned many times that she has helped him deal with the intensity/anxiety of being in the spotlight this season. So here are some potentially hot takes: I just think, when they’re together, it’s like he’s a different, better person. When he soaks up even a little bit of her light (sorry, I had to), I can see all the qualities in him that she is constantly gushing about. But, and again this is my take on it, I also think he has a lot of growing up to do. I don’t know much about his supposed “hot/fuck boy summer,” but it seems to me that he’s perhaps going through his own Colin phase, which he can totally do. I genuinely want to see him and Nic succeed. However, I do think he’s got to get a better handling on his media image now (this whole thing reeks of a PR nightmare, but I need to take off my comms professional hat). The way this has all played out has been, imo, a clusterfuck. There are other issues that I’m also not going to get into at the moment. 

The thing that frustrated me the most is the timing of those “leaked” photos. You’re telling me that N&L went through SIX months of a - literal - worldwide promo tour, building up hype, doing countless interviews and appearances, etc., only to have these pap pictures “captured” on the night of the Pt. 2 London premiere??? And yes, while I’m aware there were rumblings of a gf being at various events/locations, I didn’t pay much attention to it (read: my curated social media bubble, lol). And I think the lack of confirmation up to that point from Luke and his team just mades things even more tricky/messy. So when the inevitable backlash played out online, piled on top of the hate Polin seems to get from many corners of the internet (Is it ship wars? Regular trolls just trolling? Polin and/or Lukola antis? People who, for whatever reason, don’t like the actors themselves or, worse, don’t like the creative choices/decisions made by the higher-ups and therefore deem it okay to spread hate online? All of the above, most likely.), I know I felt like I had been hit by a train.

Here’s my point: I think what should have been a moment of triumph and a joyous occasion for Nic, Luke, and Bridgerton season 3, was sadly overshadowed by the aforementioned shitstorm. And that’s a damn shame. Too many cast and crew put in a lot of time, effort, and blood sweat and tears, to pull this all together. I was happy with Season 3, which perhaps I will deep dive about in another post because this one has already spiraled out of control. Were there things I wished they had included or, rather, things that could have been left out? Yes, of course. But at the end of the day, I think we got a beautiful story led by two actors who love Polin as much as we do. And I cannot wait to see them back for Season 4. Plus, seriously, those viewing numbers alone should have been mostly what people are talking about. I hope all this doesn’t take away from the overall impact of the show and season.

I think it’s okay to be disappointed by all the stuff that has come out over the last few days. I think it’s perfectly human to want/need to process your thoughts and emotions. What is NOT OKAY is sending hate to anyone, period. And I hope you don’t let all that has happened sour your enjoyment of Season 3 and/or Polin.

Lastly, if you take anything away from this long ass post, it’s that Nicola is a GODDAMN QUEEN. Anyone who says otherwise is speaking slander and we do not stand for that in this house. She has carried herself during this time with grace, charm, and poise, consistently and constantly. And she is always ready for a mega fashion moment. She must be exhausted - already on to her next film/job but also perpetually online, and even stepping up to defend her costar. I may have to do a whole separate post just gushing about her and add to all the people already singing her praises. (And as a big fuck you to all the haters.)

Geez Louise, I clearly have a lot of feelings (more than I allowed myself to believe I did…). But I would love to hear what others think! Please, I need friends with whom I can have rational (okay, maybe slightly unhinged), spirited, deep analyses and discussion of this whole thing, or anything else we might have in common!

[smilingangel582]

Hi guys! I'm gonna write this fic shipping Sakura and Suo romantically. Hehe hate me or love me but this is for my sweet friend's sake who adores those two.

Prepare for lots of blushy sweet Sakura and teasing merciless, Suo!

Enjoyyy~

Warning a bit of swearing, sweet fluff and romance. Spoilers from windbreaker anime and manga.

Tracing

The room feels not right. It's too empty for Suo's taste. Definitely not hot as the window allows a bit of ventilation. Hayato Suo doesn't mind the cramp space with the boy he loves.

Sakura, still asleep in the futon as Suo watched him while propping an elbow up from the side. His white shirt is thin and reveals the light softer muscles that are developed well for his strong body.

Suo amused recalls how he and Sakura started dating. It was all about Sakura's cute flustered expressions and embarassed stutters that entertained Suo -however it surprises him how Sakura has returned those feelings as awkwardly and sincerely as he can.

Sweet...

Suo smiles warmly, now watching those black and white lashes flicker but deeply shut in sleep. He noticed Sakura stir, now his back to Suo, slightly curled like a child. His face looks relaxed and softer than how he is usually, and Suo loves every part of it. He slowly touched his back, tracing random slow patterns with adornment.

His hands trail down to the small of his back where his shirt has ridden up a bit. Slightly curious, he used his thumb to caress the skin, bewildered how soft that spot is.

Sakura Shivers and murmurs something groggily. Suo carefully stops his action until he's certain Sakura's drifted back to sleep. Then smiles as he continues again, now tickling the skin there intentionally.

"Hmm, mm...?" A soft little mumble escapes Sakura, his slightly awakened face tilting sideways to look at Suo but not turning properly.

"Oopse, sorry... did I wake you, Haruka-kun?" Suo whispered at his ear. Instantly, it turned red either from embarassment or sensitivity.

He's still not used to being called by his first name.

"No... m'fine..." Sakura yawned now. Feeling Suo's warm chest press to his back, arms wrapping around his waist. This used to emabrass him a lot but he's slowly gotten used to the clingy Suo.

"Sakura-kun... are you hungry?" Suo asked, suddenly nipping his ear and that made Sakura jump in bed, blushing furiously.

Oh, he's not used to that yet? Cute...

Suo fondly began to trail kisses to his neck, hoping to embarrass him a little bit at least

Instead of a flustered Sakura, Suo got a giggly one. He squirms a little, "O-ohohoi... dohoho nohot..."

"Mmm? Something wrong?" Suo smirks, now back to tracing his bare skin by the waist, making Sakura's arms twitch, and his whole body stiffen, "You giggled just now, didn't you?"

Sakura was silent, hoping to hold in and resist everything in his power to-

"GYAACK!" Sakura yelled in surprise when Suo lightly tapped his hips whole breathing on his neck on purpose.

"Oh? That was an adorable sound... can I hear it again?" Suo hums teasingly now nipping at Sakura's ear to get him to squeak and Sakura squirms unable to concentrate on evading them. His continues to torment his poor hips if he delays his advances as well.

"Sa-ku-ra-kun?" Suo prods his hip gently.

"AACK! C-CUHUHUT IT OUT!"

Sakura tried to turn and face him, but Suo's arm under Sakura curls by his ribs, giving them a satisfying squeeze, making him giggle more, "Y-yoOHOU AHAHAHASS YAHAHA!!!"

"Eeeh? That is so mean... moo Sakura-kun..." Suo, let's a playful whine now continues to nibble Sakura's neck as a little punishment, which made the latter squeal and scrunchly cover his shoulders and neck defensively.

Suo might end up going for another diet... a suger one the least...

Sakura squirms a bit more and manages to twist front and face Suo, grabbing his menacing hands, "G-gah! Damn it, Suo, hehe... ehehenough!"

Suo smiles, stopping as demanded, looking at him with a loving gaze, a hand cupping his cheek, "You have a beautiful laugh, dear Haruka..."

Sakura's eyes widened, now looking down shyly feeling the soft tracing of Suo's finger under his jaw soothing, "Y-you have a nice smile... u-um... Hayato..."

Suo's caressing stop midway, stunned to say anything back to that. Sakura's face burns so much that he pulls the covers above his head to hide his reddening face.

After a minute to take it in, Suo giggles softly, patting the curled up bashful futon cocoon who is still taking baby steps to improve his relationship...

The effort alone is enough for Suo to love this man forever and protect him at all costs.

[mamamittens]

Fun little headcanons before bed that I've had on my mind for a while.

How would (X) handle you not being able to look/talk to them because you think they're too pretty?

(it's me, I can't look and talk to people I think are really pretty. Don't look at me with your pretty eyes damnit 😭)

Marco

Now, quite reasonably, Marco is going to assume you're just intimidated (and he's not... Wrong???) And give you space. This is assuming you're on the same ship and prone to running into each other otherwise he wouldn't need to think about it much at all.

This does get troublesome when time doesn't fix the issue. Unless he's your direct commander it just gets... Frustrating. Sure you're not together all the time but he gets a bit tired of being treated like he has the plague. Eventually, he's going to confront you about hating him.

Only to be baffled by how you're studiously avoiding eye contact. And you're blushing madly. And can't seem to string together sentences.

Oh.

Now, he gets a little mean. Screw him. He thought you hated his guts for the longest time. He milks it a little, just enough to see you sweat that he's definitely onto you. But if it approaches real anxiety or fear he takes a step back and handles it differently. He doesn't want you to be uncomfortable after all.

Ends up having a small but genuine conversation with your backs to each other.

Afterwards, he's preening to himself.

You really thought he was so damn pretty you couldn't talk to him.

Luckily, he thinks you're pretty cute too.

Ace

Immediately assumes you hate him totally and completely. So much so that it takes some time for people to figure out who's avoiding whom. And it takes even longer for someone to convince Ace that there's something going on. But once that idea is planted in his head he's going to worry over it. Constantly. It will literally haunt him.

He needs answers.

He's going in a tad aggressive, demanding answers so he can make peace with the obvious truth that you hate him. Getting pissed off that you won't look at him--clearly you're disgusted by him. Fuck, can't you at least have the balls to say it to his face??? What's he gotta do to get you to admit how much you hate him?

Then he sees how hard your blushing, face hot as you hide behind your hands. And he assumes that he's effectively been bullying you and maybe you don't hate him but clearly you're terrified of him (so close yet so far...)

So now he's apologizing, getting all worked up himself because now you definitely have to hate him! He's just going to... Go now. Sorry...

It's only when his back is turned that you can string together a response to explain that he's too pretty to handle.

It's a solid two minutes before he can think again, he's so fucking thrown by your explanation. Turning on instinct before remembering the problem so he hides his face in his hat, which is great cause his face is bright enough to function as a lighthouse.

Face now hidden behind a hat he gets to the bottom of it. He's... Absolutely baffled and almost doesn't believe you but the sheer awkwardness is convincing enough on its own.

Now he's got a new problem.

How does he get you used to his face so he can see your cute face himself whenever he wants?

Thatch

Immediately he wants to solve the issue. He may not know what it is but he certainly isn't a shrinking violet! It's actually kind of impressive how persistent he is given your determination to not be confronted with him in person. He constantly laments that he can't hold a conversation with you now matter how hard he tries! That you always end up running from him--he's not that rough looking is he? Is it the hair? Please don't be the hair he might actually cry

Finally, after turning in some favors, he essentially corners you. Turning up the charm (oh sweet summer child that is not helping) to talk through this little issue between you. But! You're not looking at him! How will you know he's being sincere if you can't see his face?!?

And hey... You're looking kinda flushed you good? Are you sick?

He goes in to coddle you a little and is startled at the dying sound that slips out, your hand immediately covering your face in sheer embarrassment.

Oh... Oh?!? OH?!?!

He wastes no time preening to himself, instantly figuring it out while asking if there's anything he can do to make it easier to talk (batting his eyes like a nerd). You're so damn cute he pulls you in for a hug while laughing a bit.

All those plans for nothing! You didn't hate him not were you scared of him (sorta).

Looks like he's gotta make new plans so he can see more of your cute reactions for himself.

Now imma pass out for work in... 5 hours lol, no wonder I sleep for 17 hours on the weekend, yikes 😬

[telemy]

Completely on yours and hers(?) side in all of this. IK the main complaint is that Ant wants to rape Penelope but that wasn’t even in the original story. In an au you can change whatever you want and Jorge did exactly that w Epic as well (how the sirens look, the fact that Odysseus had wax in his ears in the song but in story was tied to the mast pole to listen to them, the ant wanting to rape Penelope etc). “It’s disrespectful to Jorge” my brother in Zeus Jorge didnt make the original story. In the shipping au I could totally see Ant going “damn can’t convince this woman to be my wife guess I gotta put the moves on the heir of the kingdom. Gonna be king one way or another” cause bro doesn’t care abt her as a person even in the story he just wants the power which is where the idea comes from and it’s a fun idea to explore!

For the age thing: Tele is 20 theres no exact age for Ant in the book but he didn’t go to war w the others 20yrs ago so he had to have been somewhere between 0-10 so at most there’s a 10yr age dif which isn’t that bad (my own parents have a 16yr age dif) Penelope is around 39 cause she got married to Odysseus at 18 and had Tele at 19 (if I’m doing the math right) and then Odysseus immediately went to war soon after his birth and took all of age/able bodied men w him (I couldn’t find the exact age of when men in Ancient Greece were “of age” but it’s gotta be somewhere between 10-16 (puberty age range).

IK google sucks recently Yall but it doesn’t take too much effort to look into this - sincerely a half Greek a half Italian that used the original Greek myths to bind w her culture cause her immigrant parents wouldn’t teach her their native language

Its good to see people from greek culture Agree with all this :]

Every Au changes depending on the creator, in my Au the only difference is that he actually does love Telemachus (and grew up with him). Its a shame that i can't know about Elian's Au because all what happened, and It hurts.

I also think that they shouldn't speak in the place of Jorge. Talya (Wich is literally Jorge's girlfriend) supported Elian and loved her art, wich doesn't give "the creator hates this' vibes..

Also, i noticed non-greek people saying stuff about greek culture and involving it on all of this, wich isn't cool..

(Im not greek, but im an Hellenistic Pagan, and i seen people say that changing myths affects the religion and offends us, wich isn't true. Thats like telling a Zeus devotee that they can't worship Zeus because he did bad stuff in the myths. Myths are myths, fictional, and they are NOT related to the religion.)

Also! In the book 22 of the actual Odyssey, wich is practically before he died, Antinous is called "Young man" wich means that he was still a Young man before he died. This in ancient greece was really Young, probs between 16-21/22/23 or so, wich means he could even be Telemachus' actual age. (Altho, i believe him being atleast 1 year older, he gives off the vibe)

Regardless, thanks for sharing your opinion on the subject, me and more people getting cancelled from all of this apreciate it, we love you 🫶

[mar3ggiata]

professional help, c31. preview.

They got new information about the mission. First of all, the Serbian group was talking about transportation. They were talking random numbers, they all suspected drugs. 160 grams per unit, 663 grams per unit. They started wondering which substance they were talking about, since the shipping was intended to reach different countries, and it was going to be pricy. One hundred thousand per unit. Cocaine, meth? 

It all happened so fast, one random Tuesday at 5pm. Honey tapped his hand on the desk three times, she immediately turned around, getting tangled in her headphones. Roman spilled some tea in the attempt of running from his desk to Honey's. 'Shit shit shit', someone whispered.

'No way, Jude is Alba?'

'No fucking way, it's her you've been seeing?'

'What do you mean, you're going out with her?'

Before he could register the immense mistake he had made, he heard a voice. A sweet, sincere voice. He heard the voice he normally heard in his dreams, in his mind. The two men were soon forgotten, she was coming his way. 'Hey!' She shouted. She stood in the middle of the hangar, making a few men turn towards her. Her, in all her grace, her dark aura, her aura of power and knowledge. She looked pale, she looked… she was crying? She looked scared. Watching all three soldiers stop and look at her, she signalled them to follow her with a single nod of her head. Come with me, that was the signal. 'All three' she said.

They followed like they were some damn dogs.

notes: full chapter on Saturday.

taglist:

@ghostlythots @sweetfemmefatal @natxpat @chavarriakeren647 @ravenmoore14 @farther-than-pleiades @internallyscreamings @hwromi @atoxicrat @cuti3maddi3 @deafeningkittenblaze @its-celeste @serene-hills @lexidoll12 @poohkie90 @lunatiquess

@warmedbythebody @katzykat @iristhemuse @azkza @keiraslayz @abbyandermine @jennyjencakes @dest-nai @corset-briefs @nutze-kekse @ilytsukiw @b3anspr0ut

@pondsblog @missyouzoe @fallenkitten @bigauthorrascalturkey @bethtay @angelynn-nicole @starluv @stargirlisworld @giyuuslittleslut @impossiblecupcakelight

@rkrivees-blog @ghosts-hoe @kam1snotverysmart @gauky76 @freyjaaasstuff @spicyspicyliving @scottpilgrimvsmyfists @courtney0-0 @shinchanboi @darling006 @my-therapist-hates-me

[netherfeildren]

FEAR OF GOD : Chapter II : Although a monster [Joel] could be charming in company

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC

Content Warnings: Angst, possessive behavior, unprotected sex (there are no condoms in the apocalypse, only vibes), oral sex (f!receiving), squirting, brief non-graphic descriptions of medical procedures / illness,  brief discussion of avoiding meals (no reference to any sort of ED), stupid! Joel ™️

Summary: Joel gets a little stupid and a little jealous.

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: I wanted to mention that that I've altered the timeline a smidge to benefit my own whims. So the Joel we find here is about 50-51 and our reader is in her mid to late 20's (cw: age gap 🤓) Everything else in the timeline is the same up until Joel and Ellie return to Jackson.

Another thing, I hella make shit up in this chapter. I talk about a surgical device and there’s discussions of like mechanical/electrical engineering? which I know fuck all about. So if it reads as nonsense I sincerely apologize. There’s a fair bit of character/world building in this ch. so I hope you all can bear with me for a smidge. There is the gift of porn at the end though >:) 

Chapter title is from Anne Carson’s Autobiography of Red (my favorite book in the whole world which everyone should read). Art is Intimacy by Angelica Alzona

Word count: a whopping 9.6k (I'm so sorry 😭)

Read on AO3

CHAPTER II: Although a monster [Joel] could be charming in company

What it looked like?

Like fucking the forest for once birdless, beastless.

Like measuring the distance between all that’s lost

and everything else that, even now, waved at 

hard enough sometimes,

will sometimes wave back.

But it felt like swallowing the sea– 

being forced to, ships and all. 

Then a silence as vast as it was particular.

The like holding a mirror up to Apollo

and expecting his face there, when Apollo’s always been

faceless, obviously, being a god.

And the hand still holding the mirror up anyway.

And the face not showing.

-Carl Phillips, Star Map with Action Figures

“I mean, yeah, I’d fuckin’ like to think so. I’m not sure. She told me –”

“Ellie, you’re overthinking the hell out of it.”

“I am not,” she grumbles.

“You’re a dumbass,” you deadpan.

That riles her up. “Me?! You!”

“What’ve I done? It’s pretty obvious what’s happening here – Dina wants you to ask her out – you’re too chicken shit to step up.”

“Okay, genius. Y’don’t know what you’re talking about, first of all.” The sass on this girl, honestly. The two of you sit together at the picnic tables that’d been set out in the town center for the monthly barbecue. “You think you’re so damn smart. Well lemme just ask you this, what’s going on with Joel? You two’ve been weird as fuck lately.” That shuts you up quick.

“Don’t even start with that. The answer is nothing.”

She gives you that knowing look of hers, but let’s it go. Silently says: I know this hurts, so I won’t push. Out loud: “You started it, motherfucker.” You yank on her bangs, and she swats you away. “Maybe I should call you a fatherfucker instead,” she cackles. 

“Oh my god, I actually hate you.” You try and swat her back, yank on her bangs again. 

“What’re you two schemin’ about?” Joel’s voice comes from behind you.

“Speak’a the devil,” she says under her breath, starting to gather up her empty plate.“Nothing–” She shoots up, and brushes past, “Gotta go. We’ll talk later,” not even sparing him a glance. You look between the two of them wishing there was anything you could do to help them bridge this cold distance between them. She turns before walking off, gives you the finger behind his back. 

“Ellie, hold on a sec,” you call after her, but she’s off.

“It’s fine,” Joel says. “Leave it.”

“I’m sorry,” shielding your eyes from the bright sun, you look up into his serious face.

He shakes his head. “Nothin’ for you to be sorry about. Ain’t got nothin’ to do with you.” And that stings. Off-handedly as it’s said, it stings that he thinks their rift doesn’t affect you, make you hurt for the two of them.

How could he ever think that after everything he’d told you about Sarah –  a night that’d made you feel closer to him than ever before, while you two lay in bed, still damp and trembling – that you’d not worry about his relationship now with Ellie? Who you knew he loved like a daughter, even if he was incapable of saying it out loud. How could he think it had nothing to do with you now? After what he’d told you about himself in the aftermath of Sarah. That moment, his confession, could sustain you for a lifetime of this push and pull if necessary. With trust like that, what else mattered? Very little, you thought. 

“You get everything done you needed to?” he threads his fingers through the hair at the nape of your neck, and bends to press a soft kiss to your temple. 

You sigh, basking in this small tenderness he offers you after his casual hurt. “Yeah, we finished.” Sometimes you wonder if there’s something wrong with you, taking all this in stride. Luxuriating in his offerings of tenderness and vulnerability one second, swallowing the way he casually brushes you off another. Surely there must be something wrong with you. Especially because, when it comes down to it, you don’t really care as much as you think you should . 

“How’d it go?” You’d had to debride some areas from Mr. Schwartz’s diabetic foot this morning – super fun for the both of you . The foot was famous in Jackson. A great source of shrieks and giggles when the old man decided to pull it out in front of the kids as his so-called ‘party trick’. We all gotta bring something fun to the table, honey, he’d tell you when you tried to put on your false tone of admonishment with him. 

“Long – I had to take more than I’d initially thought I’d need to.”

“He alright?”

“Resting now… Just means it’ll be harder for him later on – take longer to recover, as best he can, in any case. And ideally, what he really needs is a boot – which we have – one… but it’s not in great condition. I don’t even know if it’ll fit him – or a wheelchair, and both of them are being used right now. So, seems my only other option is to order him into bed until I can figure something else out. And of course Connie’s all, this is on you, honey. I trust your judgment, honey. ” You deepen your tone and scrunch your brow trying to inflect Connie’s baritone. “As if that’s helpful.” 

He grips your chin, forcing you to take a breath, brushes his thumb across your bottom lip, and your eyes flutter shut, pressing a tiny kiss to the pad of his thumb. He hums a little, and you catch the flare of heat in his eyes. “You’ll worry yourself half to death, little bird. Take a breath.” You huff a small laugh. He was right about that, worry was heavy on your mind recently. About lots of different things. 

“I fixed you a plate,” you divert. 

“You didn’t have to do that, sweetheart. Thank you.” He swings his long leg over the bench to sit astride it, legs open to pull you between his thighs.

“S’alright. I was getting Connie’s anyway.” He digs in, and you card your fingers through his thick hair – overly long now, it brushes the collar of his shirt in the back, you’ll need to cut it for him soon – and watch the thick column of his throat ripple as he swallows. You press your thighs together – the sun is so strong today. You think it might be making you a little delirious. 

“You’re not eating.” It isn’t a question, posed more like an admonishment, paired with the severe crook of his brow. 

“Nah, I’m alright. Can’t have anything just yet after staring at that foot all morning,” you joke.

“You telling me you’re not as entertained by it as the kids are?” 

You roll your eyes at him. “Shocking, I know.”

He turns to give you an assessing glance now, “You sure you’re alright?”

“Just tired.” You lay your head in the cool, dark crook of his neck, breathe him in. “Birdie …” voice laced with concern – he tries to gently tug you back by your ponytail, but you burrow in further – press your lips to the pulsing vein in his neck. “I’m fine, Joel. Just tired, really.” He huffs. Grouchy man. 

“Hi, honey,” Connie shuffles up to the table. “Joel–” he nods, “You two alright ? That go a long time with Mr. Shwartz?” he asks. 

You’re grateful for the distraction from Joel’s fifth degree. “It was fine. Our handy dandy Bovie is so good.” You’d done your best recently to fashion an electrocautery device, like the ones they’d used before in surgery. The two of you had gathered the different parts over time and much voracious scavenging, to put the system together. “You’ve gotta try it next. We should be real proud of that.”

“You should be proud. You’ve got a nice mechanical mind in you, as well. You know, Joel, the body is just a machine of flesh and blood.” Connie turns his blue eyes, gone slightly milky now, on Joel, ready to impart his slice of wisdom – part lecture, part proud tirade for your benefit, as the younger man continues to work through his plate of barbecue. “She looks at the two the same way; it’s very impressive.” 

Joel finishes chewing: “Our girl is nothin’ if not impressive,” he says, giving you an impish little smirk. You pinch the inside of his thigh over the thick denim, not imparting nearly enough punishment as you’d like to. 

“Shut up,” you grouch at him. “Anyways, the lines were pretty sharp, the cauterization clean. A bit slow, though. I felt a bit held back – but not too bad, considering.”

“Considering…” Connie muses. He starts to eat as well, and the sight of the slick, sauce covered meat is slightly revolting. The sun is way too hot with the change of season into fall just on the cusp, and after staring at poor Mr. Schwartz’s mangled foot all day…  “I’m thinking with a little more juice it’ll be perfect. We just have to find a way to feed it more power without frying the whole system.”

“Yes…  it’s delicate,” he says slowly.”You should ask Noah for advice.” Joel is silent beside you, but you feel the tensing of his thigh beneath your palm at the mention of Noah’s name. “He’s always been very keen to help us in any way we need.”

“Oh, has he?” Joel drawls, in that monotone he loves to use when cutting people down. He can’t fucking stand Noah; it’s quite funny to you, actually. You nudge his knee with your own, still cradled between his spread legs, and drag your nails slowly up and down his thigh, only responding with a non-committal hum. He shifts his jaw in that way he’s wont to do when he’s especially aggravated, cocks his eyebrow at you. You give him a tiny little mocking tilt of your head. You’re sure he can see the laughter at his expense in your eyes. 

“Yes,” Connie continues, completely oblivious to the silent conversation going on between the two of you, “He’s very adept at anything electrical or mechanical. Although, you are, as well, Joel. Perhaps you could advise us too. Any help would be greatly appreciated.”

“I wouldn’t say that, but I can take a look. Offer what I can.” 

You change the subject: “Teddy’s been in again this week.” One of the single mother’s in Jackson, Susanna’s son, Teddy, had been continuously ill the past few months. Coming down with different, seemingly unrelated afflictions on and off. His mother was beside herself with worry, and you and Connie were reaching your limits on what you could do to help him. Much less actually provide a clear answer as to a diagnosis. 

“Yes, I spoke to his mother last night. Some sort of ague again, undoubtedly.”

You roll your eyes at him affectionately. Connie loved to condemn undiagnosable patients with ‘the ague’. “Connie, the ague is absolutely not a valid form of diagnosis,” you laugh. That launches him into a tirade about the conundrum the boys posed to the both of you these past few weeks. And ague is a perfectly valid explanation, honey. Neither of you are certain what’s causing his bouts of illness. Though you’re reluctantly leaning towards something that won’t pose anything good for any of you; you’re trying to remain optimistic, but the uncertainty is taking a toll on the both of you, as well as his mother. 

As Connie goes on, there’s a hazy buzz rumbling around in your brain. Your temples throb, and you press the tender spot into the hard mass of Joel’s shoulder. He’s finished eating now, and you nuzzle into him, breathe in the warm scent of his skin and sweat, grip the hard swell of his bicep – the thick muscle has the most inappropriate arousal pooling low in your belly, but your stomach churns at the same time, and the sun is so damn bright. Too many opposing sensations going on within you all at once, you’re sure you’re on the verge of sun poisoning – dramatic – and it’s making you needy. Infecting you with ideas of crawling into his lap and having him cradle you. He stiffens beneath your attentions suddenly. The soothing large palm he’d been dragging up and down your spine goes still, pausing with his fingertips tucked just below the waistband of your jeans – as if he’s just now realizing how openly affectionate the two of you are being – his muscles go rigid at your display, and then that’s it. He’s pulling away. 

Your gut twists again, your head is really spinning now – you straighten in your seat, scoot back and out of the cradle of his thighs, as far as the bench allows you. Always fucking pulling away. He’s stiff and uncomfortable, but at your retreat he clicks his tongue at you, frowns a little, and you want to snap at his subtle admonishment – you started it, what are you frowning at me for?

Connie is still going on about Teddy. “You sure you’re alright, dear?” he interrupts himself. “You look a bit peaky.”

“I’m fine.” You stand abruptly, “I’ve got to head back, actually.” Joel turns to reach for you, but you step back and away from his fingers. The heat is definitely making you grouchy, sick; you’re not acting yourself. “I promised Mr. Schwartz I’d be back to check on him within the hour.” You don’t want to look at Joel anymore – you’re used to his sudden bouts of tension – discomfort – but something is setting you on edge today. 

“You should eat something before you go, honey,” Connie says – looking up at you with concern.

“I had something before I came. I’m okay.” You turn to look at Joel now, as the lie passes your lips, a provocation held in your eyes and tone.

He frowns, “You said –” 

“I’ll see you two later.”

“Birdie –” But you’ve turned from him before he can continue, walking away quickly. Your head is spinning, gut cramping and turning over on itself. The sun feels like it’s two feet away from you, bearing down on the crown of your head, and you know you’re about to be sick. Always fucking pulling away, always. It embarrasses you a little that you still chafe at it, the back of your eyes pinching and saliva pooling heavy on your tongue. You know the way he is. 

You make it back to the clinic just in time to vomit behind the bushes on the side of the house. 

Jesus. 

-

Susanna brings Teddy into the clinic late in the evening. You’ve just finished writing up your operative note for the ‘famous foot’ (Mr. Schwartz’s words, not yours) when she flies in, frantic, with the listless child in her arms. She tells you he’d been lethargic and without an appetite all day, but she’d chalked it up to fatigue and melancholy from being ill and bedridden so often, recently. His fever had crept up out of nowhere, and now Teddy was almost unconscious, burning hot and delirious – words slurring, eyes glassy. 

It’d been hours since then. Teddy was now resting quietly with cool compresses and ice bags tucked under his arms and against his neck which seemed to be helping. Susanna had retired to the back of the house to rest for a bit, and you now sat between Mr. Schwartz and the boy, quietly reading over a text both you and Connie had already gone over multiple times – hoping to find anything that’d inspire an explanation. Most concerningly of all, you’d noticed a smattering of purple-yellowish, sickly looking bruises along Teddy’s spine. It pushed you in the direction your mind had previously taken concerning what could potentially be the cause of all of this. And even though it was the first you’d seen of any bruising on him, it didn’t reassure you at all. 

-

“Joel’s here,” Nancy, the nurse that worked with you and Connie, says quietly from the doorway. You stand from your bedside vigil, sighing. It’s late, and you don’t want to do this now. A little embarrassed from your earlier fit. A lot tired from the long day and throwing up and the heat. 

“Can you come out and get me in two minutes, please? Interrupt us.” 

She gives you an assessing look. “Sure.”

You walk out to the office to find him leaning against your cluttered desk, bulging arms crossed against his chest, straining the sleeves of his button down. There’s a far off look in his eyes, scowl marring his brow, but when he looks up at you all the tightness in his countenance seems to melt away at the sight of you. “You alright?” His gaze is assessing – sweeping up and down your frame, taking everything in like always. The man sees entirely too much. 

“I’m fine. I need to stay here tonight, though.” You jerk your thumb back towards the exam room. “They need me.”

“You said you were tired.”

“It passed – just the sun.” He looks at you like he doesn’t really believe you. 

“About earlier—”

“It’s fine, Joel.” You feel too tired, too strung out, to give him an out by pretending to ignore that he’d hurt you, pissed you off. Let it be what it was – you had a sick child to care for – couldn’t think about all the distance that would seemingly exist forever between the two of you, not right now, at least. 

“You lied about eating.”

Oh, now he wanted to be fucking honest. You roll your eyes at him, watch his jaw clench. “What?” Tone bratty and antagonistic, “No I didn’t – you misunderstood.”

“You told me you didn’t want to eat, and then you told Connie, not fifteen minutes later, that you’d already eaten.” 

“Well then I misspoke – that’s not what I meant.” You turn away from him towards the desk, busy your hands with the papers littered across its surface to avoid his eyes. You feel like fighting – like baring your teeth at him, and you hate it. You don’t want to fight with him, ever. You want, need, things to be okay between the two of you. “Why are we arguing about this? I have to get back.” The bite in your voice startles you for a second, and your hands pause their shuffling. Turning back to face him, wide eyed and shocked at the way you practically spit the words at him, but, fuck it, you decide to just go with it. 

He doesn’t let you, though – doesn’t take your bait. You watch the muscle in his jaw feather rapidly as he grinds his teeth, fists curled into knots at his sides like he’s trying to restrain himself from throttling you – and you think you’d kind of like him to do it. You’ve gotta be PMSing or something because where is all this sudden desire for violence coming from? You definitely need to sleep soon. 

He exhales a slow breath through his nose.  “Not try’na argue, baby… just figure out what’s wrong.” Your heart twists painfully, the back of your eyes pinching and hot, and you will not cry right now. His words make you even more angry because if he cares so much about such seemingly small things like this, why can’t he just let everything else fall into place between you as well?

Nancy pops her head through the open door, calling your name, “Need you when you’ve got a second.”

“Be right there, Nance.” You throw her a grateful look. 

Turning back to Joel you rub your forehead, trying to press the ache that’s taking root in your brain out with your fingertips. “Nothing… nothing’s wrong. I’m just…” you sigh, suddenly very sad, very tired. You take in his weathered face, his brow pulled down into a scowl anyone who knew him less would take for anger, but you see it for what it is: concern, discomfort, frustration at the tension that’s held constant between the two of you all day. The both of you pulling away and then yanking each other back. You can see he wants to move past this, avoid whatever fight is brewing – too much for him to handle. You know he hates it when you’re angry and annoyed with him, and doesn’t that have to mean something? Please, please it must mean something more. But you’re too tired for this now, your body overwrought from its brief bout of sickness earlier, from your long day. You’d like to go to bed with him and not wake up for a year. Lay on his chest and feel the movement of his breathing rock you to sleep, count the spaces between his ribs, make a home for yourself within them. A great jealousy for his heart, the organ itself, writhes in you, that it gets to live inside him. You’re feeling melancholy and exhausted and overly emotional . Sad that even when he’s the source of your turmoil, your hurt, he’s still the only one you want to go to for comfort. You clear your throat, “I’m fine, Joel. Really.” You try and give him a small smile. “I was in a mood earlier, but I’m okay now.”

“I need us to be okay, Birdie. I– I know…” he looks away, hisses through his teeth in frustration. “I know I don’t always act like it, but–”

You hold up a hand to stop him. You don’t want to, can’t, listen to him try and make excuses. Explain to you things you’ve always understood about what this thing is between the two of you. “We don’t need to do this. I promise everything’s fine. I need to get back.” You step forward to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw, to appease the both of you, but also if only because you can’t help but touch him when he’s near, hands snaking up his belly and chest to fist in the collar of his shirt. He hums low in his throat and grips the back of your neck, other hand low on your back to press you to him, and everything inside you goes liquid hot and wanting, just at the feel of him, the scent of him.

“Try and rest.” He breathes you in at the crown of your head, and you nod against his chest.

“I will. Don’t worry.” But you know he’ll do that anyways, and that alone is a comfort.

-

Connie meanders in about midnight, nocturnal creature that he is, to check on you all. You’d pulled the armchair from the office into the corner of the infirmary while you read in the corner. An all night vigil wasn’t exactly necessary – Teddy’s fever had broken about an hour ago, his vitals were stable, and Mr. Schwartz had been snoring the night away for hours. Nancy lived on the second floor of the house, and was always near and available if necessary, but you were peaceful here. Tucked away in your corner with your book and a throw draped over your folded knees. The anxiety you’d carried heavy in your belly all day had dissipated. Thoughts of Joel settled now, compared to the frenzied hysterical swarm they’d been all day. Sometimes this need for him scared you. That your mood, your physical self, could so easily be altered by him, by his own mood, his words, his touch. The tether he held you by was so strong, it felt unbreakable, permanent. It scared you to think what would become of you if one day he decided to break it.

Connie passes a hand over the boy’s forehead, murmuring to himself as he examines him, pops his stethoscope in to take a listen. His movements are slow and practiced, methodical. You’d always loved watching him work. You’ve passed so far into the realms of exhaustion, you’re a little delirious now, your mind and vision hazy, and you rest your head against the wingback and watch. “He’s settled now. Vitals are steady.” You hum in agreement.

He turns to look at you then, his gaze contemplative as he takes a seat on the bench along the end of the bed directly in front of you. His tired groan makes you smile a little, old man. The fondness for him squeezes your heart. He has something to say, you can tell. “I know your father was an exacting man,” he starts. You nod, still quiet. You know that now is a time for listening. “I think of him often. I know I never met him, but he wanders into my mind quite frequently. I think of the things you’ve told me about him, about your mother and sister–” When you’d first become close, it’d been hard for you to speak of your family, of Beth and her death, but eventually you’d forced yourself to. For no other reason than that the thought of you being the only person left in the world that remembered their names, that knew their stories, wrought a grief in you so profound, it was impossible to keep it all inside. You were scared if you didn’t share, if you carried all that alone, you’d lose yourself in their memories forever. “I think that after all that, after living their deaths in such a gruesome way, it could have been very easy for you to lose yourself in all that. Do you agree?” Another small tilt of your chin. The precision with which he’d always read you, understood you, was the greatest comfort in the world. That sometimes it wasn’t even necessary to tell him out loud what it was you were feeling or needed for him to pick up on it. 

“But you didn’t.”

“I didn’t,” you finally say.

“No…” his eyes take on the thoughtful look he gets, the one that makes you wish you could read his mind sometimes, read the wonderings of that brilliant mind like one of your textbooks. “Instead, you became a splendid and thoughtful physician. A seemingly impossible thing, no? Now, with the state of the world for you to have pieced together a vocation such as this…” his milky blue eyes glint with humor, pride, “Well, it’s all very impressive, my dear.”

“Thank you,” you acknowledge. 

“And even more impressive, considering the fact, that had you been given a choice in the matter, you would never have chosen this for yourself… had the world been different, normal.” And there it is again, that keen sense of knowing.

“Yes.” There is nothing more to say. It is, after all, your most painful, most honest, most shameful truth. Painful, not in the sense that you carried any regret now, when you cared for your patients, when you put the knowledge your father and Connie had given you into practice. But painful in the sense that it chafed at your skin, that desire for other . That small seed that had the great potential of growth within you, to spread like ivy around a house, and squeeze, squeeze, squeeze, until all you were left with were thoughts of what could have been. 

“But like I said… your father was an exacting man, and this is what he chose for you. And then, perhaps, even I played a part in that same theft of choice from you.” You try to interrupt him then, to vehemently deny it, but he continues unheeded. “You got here and you seemed to be a sort of benediction to me. A vessel for all the knowledge I could impart on you. A shepherd I could leave this flock to.” He slips his glasses off the bridge of his nose and wipes them slowly with the hem of his sweater. “I know you’ll take good care of them when I’m no longer here. That they could not have ended up in better, more caring hands.” You hate when he talks about his dying, fills you with a premonitory dread you don’t know how you’ll cope with when it becomes actuality. “But alas, you did what was set upon you, took it all in stride.” He pauses, as if contemplating what he’s about to say next, and you know the point of all this has arrived. You even know where it is he’s going with this. 

“I say all this, my dear, not to dredge up old painful memories, or reminders of what could have been… But because I would not like to see your choices taken from you once again.” And there it is. He levels his gaze at you, quiet for several moments, and it’s like he is here in the room with you now, his presence, his unsaid name heavy and poignant.

“Joel’s a good man, honey, but he’s a hurt man. Hurt in a way I don’t think even you could cure.” 

Your instinct to defend him is immediate. “He’s not— he’s not a hurt man.” You shake your head, brow furrowed, “He’s been hurt before, but it doesn’t define him, Connie. It’s not the sole contributor to who he is.” And that’s true, you know it is. Believe it to your very core. You, who knows Joel better than few others, you know the pains of his past don’t define him.  Perhaps before, they did. A pain so acute it molded him into a creature focused only on survival, or perhaps, he let it get the better of him at times. But he is so much more than all that. Has the strength and the will to set it aside when he so chooses to. Ellie being the perfect example of that. 

Choices, choices, those were the things that defined a person.

“Isn’t it? You can’t live off the potential you see in someone forever.”

“I hate it when you say that.” You sit up, let your feet drop to the floor, and lean forward to stress your point. “What are we all, if not vessels of untapped potential? We’re all just walking around with the possibility of something more inside of us. Of course, of course I value the potential I see in him! I know he has the possibility of so, so much inside of him – that’s what makes me… That’s why I –” You cut yourself off before you can make that confession, a choked sound leaving your throat. You look out the nearby window at the dark street, press your thumb hard into the center of your forehead, will the tension and frustration out of the skin and bone. 

“I know… I know,” he says gently, offering you his hands, palms up – a sign of concession. “But it’s not enough to hang all your hopes and dreams on just that. I want more for you than just that . I want you to have choices. To be able to have what you truly want, what you truly need. I would not like to know that something unfulfilling has been forced upon you once again by the circumstances of this world.” And he says it so sadly, with a look of such tenderness in his eyes, it makes embarrassment burn hot and red in your cheeks. The back of your eyes pinch. What must they all think of me when they see us together? The part that perhaps does, or should, make you the most embarrassed, is that you don’t really care at all. Not in any substantial way that would make a real difference, make you act differently. “I’m not unfulfilled, Connie. I love what we do here,” you say softly.

“I know that, I know. But still…I just–”

You rest your aching head in your cupped palms, bent elbows propped on your knees. You’re so fucking tired. “Connie, please, I know…” you whisper. “Just, please, no more tonight… I’m exhausted. You can tell me all this another time – tomorrow. Just no more tonight.”

“Alright, alright, dear. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to give you grief.” He stands, comes towards you to rest a gentle palm on your shoulder.

“I know… and you’re not… It’s me.”

“I only want good things for you, darling girl.” You press your hand over his on your shoulder, give a short nod. 

“Go home – you need rest. Nancy will stay with them.”

“I can sit for a few more hours. Teddy likes to know I’m here.”

“No, no,” his voice takes on that stern fatherly tone he likes to whip you into shape with sometimes. “Enough for tonight. They’ll both be fine. You’ll see them tomorrow.”

You scrunch your nose at him, “Bossy.” But you stand to go, draping the blanket over the back of the chair. He pulls you in for a hug then, envelops you in the comfort and steadiness he’s always offered you, from the very start. He always smells faintly of peppermint and mothballs and old paper. “It’ll all work itself out, my dear. You’ll find a way. You always do. I’m not worried about that.”

-

Joel watches you leave the clinic from his spot in the shadows across the road. He’s been posted here, obstinate and pissed off with himself, for hours. Especially because he’s certain this must be a new low for him, sulking in the dark, watching for you like a creep. But he just wanted to be close to you. He knows you lied to put him off earlier. Your conversation had left him unsatisfied, restless. He knows you’re pulling away because he’s pulling away. Because he’s putting you off, and he tells himself he’ll give you space, tells himself that’s what’s best, but knows it’s a lie as he thinks it. 

The thing is, despite his obstinance, Joel was not a man who lacked self awareness. He was, in fact, very good at recognizing a thing within himself, and yet still able to make a conscious decision to feign ignorance towards it to the outside world. This set up worked well for him – sometimes … on occasion… But this was different, and he knew it. Feigning ignorance would not work between the two of you for much longer. You were getting tired and sad and frustrated with him and he could see it and hated himself for being the cause of it. And if he was being honest with himself, which in this moment, he was trying to be, he was getting tired of it too, tired of himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in this position with a woman. On the verge of … something. Something he couldn’t confess, even to himself, yet. But to allow himself that, to allow himself the simple act of even admitting what he knew was the truth of his feelings for you – there was a part of him, a very broken part that had not been used in a long, long time, that couldn’t even imagine it. To allow himself that sort of vulnerability. To allow himself the truth of there existing another person in this world, in what this world had become, a partner – a woman he cared for, needed . It was too vulnerable, too precious a thing to allow himself. Perhaps before, perhaps in a world not overrun by death and disease and violence – by loss. 

But what did that even look like anymore? A world bereft of monstrousness? Wiped clean of the beasts that had overtaken it, human or infected. Could Joel even remember such a thing – even imagine it, if only in his dreams? He couldn’t even discern which of the two was worse anymore. Part of him knew it didn’t really matter. Not in the end. It was all conjecture when it came down to losing your life – losing the person you loved. Whether it was fungus or a bullet – dead was dead.

Sometimes he didn't even feel like a person anymore. Just this thing that existed at the periphery of the world. In the moments when he pushed you away, when he turned from the loving look in your face, forced himself to brush off your words and your affection, to hold you at arms length – to protect the vulnerable, scarred mass of his heart – those were the moments in which he was most like a creature, least like a man. 

He thought of a world where he felt safe enough to go to the woman he loved, his Birdie, hold you in his arms and say: here is everything I have for you, I’m begging you, please take it . 

Such a world didn’t exist in Joel’s mind. Couldn’t fit. He’d been stripped of the ability. To have something so vulnerable and new. A type of fragile he’d not held since his twelve year old daughter lay bleeding and broken in his arms, and have the ability to say I am strong enough to endure the possible loss of this. I need you this badly. So badly I am willing to risk even my own heart. 

It looked like trying to swallow the sea. 

He follows you home in the darkness. 

-

“You get that fixed alright?” Joel’s voice barks from the mouth of the garage. You startle, your knee slamming into the underside of the workbench. Deciding to follow through on Connie’s suggestion from yesterday, you’d come to see Noah, knocking on his door bright and early this morning, Bovie clutched in your hands. He’d been more than happy to give it a look for you. The two of you had been sitting here for about an hour now, and in that time you’d seen Joel’s form stalk by at least three times, from out of the corner of your eye. Absurd man that he was, you knew he’d been psyching himself up to barge in here and interrupt the two of you. Seemed he’d brought his attitude with him.

“Jesus, man–” Noah’s hand grips your smarting knee, rubbing it gently, “We didn’t hear you come up.” Joel’s left eye twitches at the we, his gaze zeroed in on the hand on your knee, his teeth bared in the perpetuation of a ridiculous growl as he takes a threatening step forward. You lift your brows at him – all your fire and fight from yesterday put to rest now after some much needed sleep. He cocks his brow back at you, shifts his jaw side to side in annoyance.

“Absorbed in your work?” he drawls sardonically.

“We’ve made some good progress actually! Come see,” Noah says, completely missing Joel’s mocking tone, the poor thing. He gives your knee another gentle pat, and you think you might just see steam come out of Joel’s ears. He steps up behind you, chest pressed close to your back and passes a hand over your hair, presses a kiss to the crown of your head. This fucking guy. Now he feels like getting handsy. You scrunch your nose at him, turning back to face Noah and the Bovie, your shoulder pressing into Joel’s belly. Noah takes in your positions, the possessive hand now curled around your neck – looks back down at the knee he’d just grabbed and then back to Joel’s broad intimidating form and scowling face. You see a slow swallow move through his throat. As he starts to explain the changes the two of you had made to the electrocautery generator, you consider the differences between the two of them. The contrast is stark. Noah isn’t small by any means, average height, a nice build – but there’s something about Joel. Some sort of warning in the air around him, in the space he takes up in a room, that makes him larger than life – something that says don’t fuck with me or mine. Heat pools low in your belly and you press your thighs together tightly. Fucked up, you’re fucked up – you try to brush his hand off your neck – suddenly feeling overwhelmed, your skin overly sensitized. “Quit –” he says low in your ear and you almost whimper. He’s jealous, and it’s turning you on. There’s definitely something wrong with you. 

You try to shake him off again,“ Let go.”

“No.” His voice is steel. Noah is heedlessly going on about the Bovie, about how it only took a slight rewiring from the generator into the hand-piece without overwhelming the system; giving it the little bump of power it was missing. Joel’s thumb brushes a slow, warning path up and down your neck. Down, down, to the top notch of your vertebrae, slowly kneading the fine muscles surrounding the prominence of your bone and then up and pushing into the base of your skull. His hands are warm and dry – the rough calluses abrading your sensitive skin. You feel the flush in your cheeks traveling down over your chest, the tips of your breasts tightening to painful points. You see Joel’s eyes flicker down, taking you in, and he gives a contemplative hum low in his throat.

“I’m so glad you let me help,” Noah says with a warm smile. He’s sweet and so genuine and as you take him in, how completely unaware he is of the silent struggle going on between you and Joel right in front of him, you’re struck by how easy loving a man like that would be. And how unfulfilling for a woman like you. What is it about some people, that they can’t appreciate a good thing unless it hurts a little?

“Connie and I are real grateful that you could help. You let us know if there’s anything we can do for you.” Joel gives him a short nod as you leave.

And then, soft and threatening into the shell of your ear as the two of you walk away from the nice, sweet, uncomplicated boy: we’re goin’ home, and I’m gonna lick that cunt until you’re cryin’, little bird. 

Your steps speed up, trying to outrun the clutch of his hands on your skin, trying to escape – even if just a little. 

You never stood a chance of that. 

-

He follows, menacingly on your heels, as you dart into your house. A rabbit trying to outrun the big bad wolf. You make for the stairs and you feel the tips of his fingers ghost lightly in the ends of your long hair, one foot on the first step, but then his finger is catching in your belt loop, yanking you hard into his chest. Your back thumps against him with a small oof and then his hands are skating along your curves, big palms squeezing your breasts, pinching your nipples through the cotton of your t-shirt.. 

“Bad Birdie, try’na run from me.” He nuzzles, gentle, gentle into the nape of your neck, the line of your hair, presses his mouth to the top notch of your spine. You feel his hot, wet tongue slide over the jut of your vertebrae, small peppered kisses to your nape and your entire body flushes hot – arousal pulling low and tight in your belly. Your clit throbs in time with his panting breath in your ear. His soft mouth is totally at odds with the tension he’s holding himself with right now, the harsh way he presses his fingers into the skin of your hips. 

You can feel the thick length of him pressing into your ass; he’s hard as stone and throbbing – turned on by the chase. You moan, deep and wanton, slick pooling in your panties, ready for him now , just at the feel of his hands on you. “You want it, baby?”

“Y– yes,” you stutter, pressing yourself harder into him. 

“Want me to fuck that needy little cunt?”

His voice is so deep you feel it vibrate through his chest and into your back, down, down your body all the way to the tips of your toes. “Please, Joel,” you whimper. You try to turn in his arms, but he clicks his tongue at you, wrapping his arms more tightly around your waist, half dragging, half carrying you up the stairs to your bedroom.

“I always give my Birdie what she needs, don’t I?”

-

“Settle now. Stay still so I can eat you how I like.” He hitches his hands higher up the backs of your thighs, beneath your knees – spreads you further apart, up and back to press into your breasts, making more space for the broad valley of his naked shoulders. He’d gotten you naked and into bed, quick as a viper. His desperation, evident in the wild look in his eyes. He was unsettled, either by the tension between the two of you yesterday or you around another man, but he was trying to prove some unspoken point to the two of you in the ferocity of his grip on your skin.

He settles his face deep into your sex now and eats. “Who’s all this wet for, huh? Were you thinkin’ about me while that boy tried to get in your good graces?”

“It’s too much. Please, please, please,” you sob. Tears making a slow, steady journey back into your hairline, dripping into your ears. You yank hard on his hair, try to direct his movements. You can’t tell if you’re trying to push him away or pull him closer. 

“Want me to stop?” He laps at your clit.

“I– I dont– I don’t know–” It felt like he’d been at this for hours. “I–”

“It’s okay.” Soft, whispered kisses to the puffy lips of your sex, your slippery inner thighs. You’re so wet, and you’d have burns from his beard and bruises from his teeth tomorrow. “I know, I know you’re just a little bird,” his teeth sharp and mean to the softest part of you, then the broad flat of his tongue to soothe – a sharp, quick suck to your swollen clit. His volley between rough and tender on your vulnerable sex setting you further on edge than anything else he was doing. “But you can take it for me.You can be so, so good for me. My good girl.”

Your cunt pulls tight – throbs like a wound. Hurts in a way you’re desperate for. You love him, you love him, you love him. Goddamn the things he does to you, makes you feel. You need him so much and he gives it all to you exactly in the way that’s the most perfect, just for you. You feel fucking delirious, on the brink of insanity. 

He pushes two thick fingers into you, cunt spasming and clinging. He scissors the digits inside of you, stretches your hole. The squelch is lewd and obscene and messy. You can feel your cheeks burning red and hot, and you throw an arm over your eyes as you feel your slick leak down between your ass to pool on the sheets beneath you – hiding yourself from your own obscenity. 

“Pussy s’fuckin’ good, baby. Tastes like candy.” He pulls out his fingers, slaps your cunt, twice, quick and sharp. The sound you let out shames you, high pitched and whining. “Fuckin’ red ‘nd gaping for me. God, Birdie –” he moans so deep it makes your heart race, brings his mouth back to you – licks a broad stripe from hole to clit with the flat of his tongue. His mouth latches to the aching swollen bud and sucks. “You need me so much dont you? Fuckin’ come in my mouth – wanna taste it.” And he’s right, he’s right, you do, you need him so much. In that instant, you feel so grateful that he knows it.  

Your back arches, everything liquid within you pooling low in your pelvis, pulling tight, and it feels like the world is about to end around you; a catastrophe even greater than anything the cordyceps could have ever wrought. This is what he brings out of you with his mouth and his fingers and his words, and you gush onto his face. He almost fucking whines at the splash of your orgasm on his tongue – slurping down everything you have to give him, you feel your wetness cover his face and beard. This is what you give to each other. 

He gentles his fingers and tongue. Letting your orgasm coast along into echoes and throbs. You try to push him away with your foot on the thick mass of his shoulder, on the brink of overstimulation, but quick as a viper, he circles his entire large palm around the fine bones of your ankle and squeezes. Quit – presses a tiny kiss to the protrusion of your bone there.

“ Mine,” he growls. “Mine, no one touches you but me–” His hands open you wider for him, fileting you for his eyes only. You feel hot and flush, your skin tight, to the point of bursting, like an overripe plum in the sun. Skin fragile and thin, insides viscous, ready to spill your flesh for him, blood burning hot as it churns in your veins. “Not fuckin’ done yet, Birdie. Not done with this perfect pussy.” Tears make a slow path down your temples, your fingers tangled in his hair, wanting to hurt– just a little. Like the delicious hurt of holding him within yourself. The way it feels like an old aching bruise inside of you when he stuffs you full of his cock. And then he’s up, up, up – quick as a whip – his fingers shoving into the tangle of your hair at the nape of your neck, captured in a tight fist like prey in a snare, and he’s shoving your own taste deep into you with his tongue. The kiss, open and savage – he’s fucking your mouth like he was just fucking your pussy. Your heart pushes against the bones of your chest, and you desperately clutch at his shoulders for some sort of countenance. He unmoors you . You have been unmoored by this man. And you want – need – more. 

He kneels between your open legs, thick thighs anchoring you wider and fists his cock, the head gleaming and painfully red. He pulls your thighs over his own thicker ones, and presses the fat tip hard to your sensitive clit, making you jolt and whimper pathetically. “Cock drunk, that’s what you are.” All you can do is nod dumbly, eyes glassy and wet. His voice is so deep. He drags the head down to your entrance, presses just a little, only the fat tip held inside you. He fucks you short and shallow like that, his hips moving in tiny, slow jerks. 

“Please,” you sigh, your eyes fluttering shut at the subtle pressure, at the promise of what’s about to come, “Please, Joel.”

“Please what? Please what?” he mocks, just a little mean, and then he’s surging inside in one brutal thrust. Fucking into you without warning and he’s huge �� almost too much to take, even after your orgasms. “Fucking tight,” he grits out. He hoists you up, arms wrapped around your waist and starts fucking up and into you, hard. Not giving you a moment to adjust. Letting go of the restraint he’d held while he ate you out. Cock battering into something deep and sensitive inside you, all you can do is take it. Let him have you as he pleases. 

-

He can feel your slick pooling at the base of his cock and sliding down his balls. He wraps his hand around the fine bones of your jaw, “Who’s pussy is this?” he growls over the wet slap, “Wanna hear it out loud.”

Yours, yours, yours. 

Your face is flushed and sweaty, cheeks red as an apple, eyes glazed, dark, wet lashes clumped together. The fucked out look in your eyes doing more for him than anything else. This is what he does to you, only him . He picks up the pace of his hips, fucks you harder, harder and your tits bounce against his chest. He slaps one of them gently, appreciating the soft jiggle it gives, the small gasp you let out. His other hand snakes low on your tummy and presses down into your pelvis so he can feel the battering of his cock inside of your cunt and shit he’s gonna come soon. Gonna come with his hand feeling himself fuck you from the outside. “Too much, too much, Joel ,” you whine. “Oh god, I– I’m gonna–” You’re soaked, sweat and slick sliding between your two bodies, and clutching him hot and tight as a fist. He can’t get deep enough, can’t give it to you hard enough. He never wants to stop, will never be able to stop. 

“You’re taking my cock so good, so fucking good. Jesus fuck, I can’t, I can’t–” He slates his mouth over your open panting one, licks into the sweet, red gleam of you. Your arms wrap around his neck, and he drags his teeth along your full bottom lip, lets it go with a little wet pop. You moan, head falling back on your neck, beyond words. He bends his head, hand wrapped around the fullness of your tit to bring it to his mouth, bites gently down on the tight, aching bud, laves his tongue around it and sucks it into his mouth. Then he’s pushing you back, letting you fall and bounce onto the mattress, legs splayed. When he pulls out abruptly you whimper – he can’t let himself come yet, not yet, just a little more – and he leaves a hot trail of open mouth kisses down your neck, over your shoulder, sucking the peak of your breast into his mouth again, over the swell of your belly, until he’s between your thighs again and bends his head to devour your slick. His tongue licking deep inside where his cock just was. He’s frantic. There’s no reason to the sense of urgency he feels, the urgency he’s taking you with right now. It’s something subconscious – something primal telling him to mark you, lay his claim. 

He can’t stop taking and taking, always taking.

He pulls up again from between your legs, the abruptness of his movements confusing you, leaving you to deliriously allow him to do with you what he will. “Taste us,” he says as he licks into your mouth, fucking his aching cock back into your spent cunt, so fucking tight always. “One more, baby. Gimme one more, lemme feel you milk me.” And like his own personal little marionette on a string, you do. Pussy fluttering and then pulling tight, a little furl of a knot, squeezing his own orgasm out of him. He feels his balls pull up tight and he’s painting you inside, teeth latched tightly to the delicate muscle that connects your neck and shoulder. The sound from your throat is high and keening, supplicant. He licks the hurt he’s just left. Grinds his spitting cock deep, right into the mouth of your womb. 

Mine, mine, fucking mine. It is a mantra of reassurance for the both of you. 

-

He cradles you in his embrace afterwards, his body wrapped around you as if he were a vine grown from your very heart. He sighs, the sound deep from his chest, and you want to tell yourself you can hear a yearning desperate enough to match your own in the cadence of it. His head drops to your shoulder, nuzzles the vulnerable space beneath your jaw, now riddled with his bites and bruises. You know you’ll enjoy inspecting them in the mirror tomorrow, feeling the warm pull of your belly at the reminder. And the moment is so achingly tender, even more intimate in a way, than your sex. The feel of him surrounding you, soft and quiet. Your eyes feel hot, pinching threateningly. 

“I have to go,” he murmurs, spent cock still buried inside of you. He presses kisses to your hair, your lips, over your closed eyelids. He can’t stop, God, he’s tried – is trying – but he can’t go, can’t part from you. Fighting is so fucking hard when you’ve got no will behind it. When what you’re trying to fight against is the thing you’ve wanted more than anything else in your whole life, and the only thing standing in your way is yourself, your own inadequacy. Perhaps he could endure the agony, the filth of life, the loss, the loss, the loss, with you held in his arms like this. 

His patrol shift started almost an hour ago. The guys were going to ream the hell out of him, he’d been here with you for hours, and still, still he couldn’t stop, couldn’t pull himself away. His lack of will, lack of restraint, of self control – his body and heart’s inability to do what his mind told him to, makes him so angry. At himself, and maybe – not at you, never you – but perhaps, at what you represented. All he wanted but couldn’t let himself have in full. He needed to go. He had responsibilities. He had truths to confess to himself. 

He was in love with you. He was. He was.

Joel was an obstinate man, but he did not lack self awareness. Now was the moment for this truth, if only confessed to himself. So, angry, and in love with you, and tremendously sorry, he turns away. Pulls out of your tight wet clutch with a wince, your breathy gasp making his cock twitch slightly, even so soon after he’s just come. You roll over, burrow into the pillows, and he grips the swell of your ass, pulls you apart to feast on the sight of his come leaking out of you. Obscene. Wet and messy and swollen, marked by his spend. He wants to bend for a taste but knows if he does, he won’t stop, will be likely to start all over again. “I gotta go, Birdie. M’already late.” He bends to nip a gentle bite to your ass cheek, one small last taste, then the press of a kiss. He hopes you can feel all he cannot say with that touch. The soft sound of acquiescence you hum as you burrow further into the sheets has his teeth clenching as he reaches for his clothes, heart turning over in his chest. He’s sure every sound out of you has a direct connection to his cock at this point. 

He won’t shower, won’t wash your drying come from his body. He’ll take you with him, wear you on his skin. Anyways, what did it matter, really, when he already wore you on his heart, his soul? What was one more conquering of his self? Perhaps this was, ultimately, what swallowing the sea looked like.

Chapter III

Netherfeildren Masterlist

[erika111111]

Just to show everyone how truly toxic and evil these Rylan shippers really are. I rest my case.

NEVER ONCE did I say if you like a gay ship are you misogynistic or fetishize gay men. I said that specifically about the Lyan-hating Rylan shippers, NOT EVEN all of the Rylan shippers. Using the term "braindead" is ableist and disgusting (I actually lost a relative who went braindead after having a seizure so this really fucking triggered me). Apparently these people would rather use ableist insults against me than actually read my damn post, because I NEVER said that, and never would. I literally ship several gay ships, just take a look at my blog, man. Sure seems to me like some people got butthurt and despite me not calling them out specifically because these were NOT the people I was targeting with my posts, my post triggered them because they took it as a personal attack. I also said I ship LAURAMAX, not Lyan. I made a whole ass LauraMax playlist. I don't EVEN like Lyan. I stood up for the minority group that was being bullied, I'm not "hiding behind canon" to "ship my shit" or whatever. I actively ship LauraMax, there's no insecure canon shield being held here, I don't like Lyan, but again, canon is canon. I'm not wallowing in any misery, but clearly you are, or you wouldn't be attacking and mocking me behind my back when I literally didn't say a single word to you. No one's hiding behind canon. Canon is canon. If you don't understand what that means, that's your problem. And for the millionth time, not all Rylan shippers are bad, misogynistic, or fetishize gay men. I met some very nice Rylan shippers. I said the LYAN HATERS and the Chrashley/Jossam haters you get around here are. So stop accusing me of whatever bullshit you're accusing me of (homophobia, pfft, nice try, I ACTIVELY ship Blygbank, Jemily, and ChrisMike; again, how about you actually take a look at my blog and PUBLIC likes before making baseless accusations) and actually read my damn post before you get offended and sarcastic and start attacking me and making nonsensical accusations. Never once did I say that the only way to like Rylan was to be delusional, misogynistic, or fetishize gay men. Never. I specifically said I don't care what you ship. Again, it was targeted at the Lyan haters and people like them where they literally admit to that sort of thing. But okay, just make up lies about me because you're angry and miserable, that's cool too. Also I don't believe I ever said anything about race?? So I sincerely hope that part wasn't about me too. I'm literally in an interracial relationship and I'm the POC.

And seriously, how the fuck is saying someone saying it's disgusting for people to fetishize gay men render them a homophobe? That's the most nonsensical thing I've ever heard and the complete opposite of the entire point I was making with that statement. I'm LITERALLY saying it's disgusting for people to ship a gay ship if it's just because they have a fetish for gay people. We all know those people exist. Are they everyone who ships a gay ship? No, obviously not. But they exist and they're disgusting. That's the point I was making. That should've been obvious but again, I guess people can't see behind their rage to read that much. And I think just because I don't like this ONE PARTICULAR gay ship, you people were just waiting for the opportunity to call me a homophobe because it was easy even though it didn't make sense. But again, Blygbank, Jemily, ChrisMike, Jerin, and that's just from Supermassive Games. I like all kinds of ships, gay, straight, I don't care. Sexuality does not affect my opinion of any given ship. (Also, I made character playlists for the cast and put several gay artists in Dylan's, like Mike Taveira, JORDY, Passion Pit, all of whom I love dearly, and literally put a reference to Rylan but also putting Radiohead in Dylan's playlist as well, as Radioheads is the other Rylan ship name. But, you know, apparently I'm a homophobe. Whatever.)

Also, why try to attack me for being "new?" That's just weird. This blog is relatively new but I've been using Tumblr since I was 11. I didn't block anybody because I thought they wouldn't see my posts if I did, that's another crazy accusation and doesn't make a whole lot of sense. I block people I don't even hate, I just block people whose content I simply don't want to see, plain and simple. Some people view that as a stretch, yes, but I literally temporarily blocked some people who were talking about the Until Dawn remake because I didn't want to see it at the time, I had nothing against the bloggers themselves though. Who the hell would even assume blocking someone would make them unable to see YOUR posts? It's the other way around. Again, that comment was just weird. Also, for the millionth time, I said I don't care what you ship and this was not some call to get people to stop shipping Rylan. So no, I will not be dying mad. Once again, I sincerely just don't care. If you like the ship, good for you. Truly. I'm only mad now because you people shoved lies in my mouth and called me/my opinions some very insulting, disgusting things.

This fandom clearly does fucking suck. Thanks for proving it. Also even some Rylan shippers say the fandom sucks, so what say you to that? The only good in the fandom is not Rylan and I very much enjoy tons of other The Quarry content. Again, check my likes. And Lyan shippers get a whole lot of hate so why are people who don't ship Rylan the only ones who need to change and not the people actively hating the Lyan shippers? Hypocrisy.

Now block me and leave me the fuck alone. Literally attacking me for no reason. I didn't even know you three existed. There were no personal attacks and I didn't call you any names. I didn't call anybody any names, but you guys sure did. "Personal attacks, what you say about me, insults from unserious people, how insightful," you guys really thought I was talking about y'all. It's just sad. You made literally all of this stuff up. You really should calm down and actually read my posts first or maybe just ASK ME if I was talking shit about you guys behind your backs if you were concerned or offended. None of this had to happen if you just calmed down enough to communicate like adults. Yet, I'm the one not being an adult here? Okay. Your attacking me and hatred for me is completely unwarranted and unnecessary. I was talking about other people. But NOW I'm mad. @erzivy @pandanomalous @ghostradiodylan (And if there were more of you, I don't care, just block me as well and move on.)

EDIT: These people still keep shit talking me and spreading lies behind my back despite calling them out specifically and just wanting to move on. Can't have this keep affecting my day to day life and clearly nothing that I do will stop them from shit talking me and speading lies so I'm just gonna be the bigger person here and block them and stop engaging with this bullshit. The amount of lies and evil things that have been said to and about me is fucking overwhelming over a goddamn video game. This is no longer worth my time, sorry. I actually have a life unlike you people. Edit 2: It got to the point where these people are making alt accounts to continue to attack me and I just... don't have the words anymore. All I'm gonna say about this one is that I didn't put fandom wank in the tags, I don't even know what that term means, that tag was only used by the people attacking me but there were a lot of reblogs/replies so I guess it got confused somewhere. You can't force people not to tag things. And it's not "bEcAuSe i'M nEw," everything I actually did tag I did intentionally so you know, people would see it? If people with an unpopular opinion about a series can't even tag said series then you're doing nothing but intentionally silencing them because you disagree with them, plain and simple. Also the Lyan haters always tag "Lyan" and "The Quarry" in their Lyan hate posts and I don't see you complaining about them. Again, complete and total hypocrisy and it's pretty clear this argument isn't about being fair or moral, it's just about what you want and demanding that your opinion is the only one on the website. Same thing with Hackearney as well, although I also don't ship them, everybody tags "Hackearney" and "The Quarry" on their Hackearney hate posts too and I don't see you complaining about that even though there are also people in this community who are fans of and ship them too. So why does this nonsense only apply to Rylan? Hmmm. Leave me alone now. Please and thank you. Edit 3 and hopefully final, to clear my name of all the remaining slander: I was not talking about anyone on Tumblr, I was talking about people in chat/comments on Twitch and YouTube who were bashing Lyan shippers, fetishizing gay people, and ignoring canon. TheCaitlinMarie was one of the streamers/streams this happened on, I forget the others now. I was watching/participating in a lot of livestreams at the time and a lot of people were playing The Quarry to prep for the Until Dawn remake. Not everything is about you, Tumblr. You people obviously won't believe me even after citing proof, but whatever, that's your problem. I spoke my truth. Also, saying "you need better reading comprehension skills" to insult me, me calling you out for insulting me, you going back to edit and delete that portion of your post, and then accusing ME of being the one that started that insult is one of the pettiest, most childish things I've ever experienced. Just yet again proves me even more right that you people are the nasty ones desperate to make yourselves look like the good guys and demonize me. Also, laughing at/mocking someone's triggers/trauma makes you trash. And thanks for admitting to intentionally talking shit about me behind my back so you could try to get away with it. And all of you ignoring/not replying only to the specific portions of my post where literally every time I factually proved you wrong, not taking back a single slur, insult, or accusation because you're mad and embarrassed I proved you wrong. Peace. Though you'll probably never find it. Edit 4: @camillabanilla Justice Smith himself said that the "maybe neither" line meant that he was interested in Laura, so his feelings for her are canon; not the ship itself, but I quite literally never said that the ship itself was. Maybe learn something or actually read my posts before running your mouth. Thanks for proving my point as well, I'll add you to the list of toxic conclusion jumping trolls.

[akookminsupporter]

Hi Rosie! We've always known that the majority of people are jikookphobics. Time and time again, big accounts have to apologize or even delete anything they post about Jikook. Tkkrs and solos, for some damn reason, are able to bully around people who support and post about Jikook even if they're not even shipping accounts. These have been going on for years.

No wonder these groups of people have the audacity to continue doing so and make sure people just post about all other duos, but not just jikook. It's so frustrating, and yet, I just dwell on people who truly and genuinely support BTS members wholeheartedly and those who sincerely support Jikook without putting down other members.

They've been louder, relying on even AI-generated pictures and clips of tkk just to keep their ship "alive" after the announcement of Jikook's travel show. Pathetic and delusional. I'm sorry, but people have let these people control the narrative and what can be posted. I admire people who put their foot down and don't delete and don't apologize, as rare as they are.

Hi, Anon. Yes, I think it's undeniable that the fandom in general is permissive with those kinds of accounts. I don't know what they're afraid of when it comes to speaking out, and it's sad that some accounts choose to delete their posts and apologise instead of standing firm. There's nothing wrong with posting or talking about Jimin and Jungkook in the same sentence. There's nothing wrong with saying you like their dynamic or that they are cute together or fun. There's nothing wrong with acknowledging out loud that they get along well. Why would stating the obvious be a bad thing?

This is something that won’t change, and now that the show is officially being released, things will get worse in this regard. It's sad because no other ship or pair of members receives the same treatment, but when it comes to Jikook, the Jikookers are always seen as the bad ones, or everything is reduced to a "ship war," making it seem unimportant. For me, the saddest part is seeing people who claim to be fans of Jimin and Jungkook hating the other for no reason. How can they not understand what their faves have said and shown for years? What more do they have to do or say for people to understand the obvious?

[toxycodone]

What is ur ideal dunmeshi polycule.. or your nightmare polycule, what is the worst combo of your fictional crushes that could all live in one big house together with you.

Oh God. I….okay.

Oxy’s Modern AU! Ship Lore. (Dungeon Meshi Edition)

It’s complicated. Me and Laios have the only semblance of a normal relationship (besides all the biting each other and puppy play shit.) On the outside you’d see us together a lot and be under the assumption that we are boyfriends maybe a little weird. But cute and harmless nonetheless.

Well then there’s Kabru. He’s there mainly for Laios at first (wants to understand his freak) and then comes across me and cannot decide if he wants to hate me or fuck me. Kabru gets constantly cockblocked because Laios always shuts him down and never assumes anything romantic (despite me encouraging Kabru to do it bc I’m okay w it). This leads to hate sex. Or something. We have a weird polycule type beat. Kabru has a constant migraine (but in the best way possible.) Labru canon.

Then we have Thistle. He makes it really clear he doesn’t like Laios or Kabru. But he VERY much so likes me (my whimsy but obvious self awareness has captivated him). Laios tries his damn hardest to get on Thistle’s good side. Kabru thinks this guy should eat shit, but tries to act polite. Kabru’s convinced Thistle is a one time hookup for me or something. Then starts gnawing at the bars of his enclosure the longer the dude sticks around. He’s really hoping I drop Thistle when he outgrows being a boy toy.

Lastly, Mr. Winged Lion/Demon comes into play. I’m hooked because usually I’m never down bad for anyone but I’m down sincerely for this guy. He’s kinda a creep. Thistle refuses to be in the same room as this man. For once, Laios doesn’t like someone. He and Thistle bond over this. Kabru is entranced because 1. This dude is a major freak and he wants to know his deal/how much of a threat he is to me 2. Cannot resist the case study here at play. Just why is Oxy so down bad? Especially for a man who barely graces it with attention? What is happening here? IS OXY WESRINF A FUCKINF CHASTITY BELT?

Anyways it goes like this:

Laios/Oxy: Established relationship. Almost normal boyfriends. Almost

Laios/Oxy/Kabru: The Big Three. Perfect Trio. There is banter. There’s autism. There’s everything. It’s perfect. Established relationship in a comfortable multi bedroom apartment/penthouse.

Oxy/Thistle + Labru: Thistle becomes a side piece but for some reason stays. Laios is okay with this. Kabru is not convinced to let this barely legal guy stay despite how much I preach about how he’s just a little meow meow wet cat. There is a slight begrudging agreement to allow Thistle to sleep in my office. It becomes his room. Awwww.

Oxy/Lion + Thistle + Labru: Messy. Obvious abuser has captivated me (I’m witnessing the horrors but I just do not get them.) There’s obvious history between Lion and Thistle and that just makes it worse because Thistle is like. Only 19. And Lion is probably in his mid to late 40s. I’m being manipulated out of my mind but my dick is so hard idc

Meanwhile Labru is deciding how they’re gonna free me from this prison. Thistle helps. Kabru and Thistle kinda stop hating each other and form a truce (however they never really get romantic. Thistle is an Oxy simp through and through.)

Anyways it’s crazy. It makes it even more difficult because Lion starts to paying rent for me (“as a gift”, but it’s just another means of control) and Labru, being two 20s losers (Laios is a retail worker and Kabru is a student) are weighing the pros and cons of being financially stable versus having their partner basically. Under some guys thumb.

Thistle isn’t paying rent but he should (literally comes from a rich fam). We make him cover groceries (he indulges in my need for fancy ice cream. He’s swiping Daddy Delgal’s card without even thinking).

[vagabond-umlaut]

KIT 🤍🤍 I just caught up on your self-ship posts and all your answers are very cute!! I wanted to ask what was meeting each other’s family like for Kitoru and Kitkuna? (well for Sukuna you meeting Uraume perhaps hah)

AAAHHHH!! I'M SO SORRY FOR ANSWERING THIS ASK SO LATE, HAZEL MY LOVE 😭😭😭 I HAD TOTALLY FORGOTTEN THIS WAS THERE IN MY DRAFTS— I AM SO SO SO SORRY 😖😖 @cloudwisp

okay so---

kitoru

my parents hate him. no like fr, they HATE him. idk if it's their way-too-high hopes and expectations for their daughter, or if it's satoru's behaviour and guts, or wht– i seriously have no idea. but they DO NOT LIKE him---they do warm up to him with time, though... seeing how much in love we two are and how much SERIOUS he is about our relationship... satoru's sincere and devoted love towards me is wht wins them over eventually, convincing my mom and dad that yeah, okay, fine. they can trust this guy to keep their daughter happy and away from harm :)) satoru's parents, on the other hand... satoru doesn't really want me to meet them, but ultimately does take me to the gojo clan estate to meet his mom and dad--- it doesn't go as bad as i expected it to go. it goes well, in fact---his parents are quite decent folks. a little too formal, yes, but they're very courteous and once i become a little acquainted with them, they're surprisingly easy to chat with!! but yes, there exists a chasm between satoru and his parents and idk why but it feels as if they... are not my future in-laws but my significant other's distant relatives or smthng... i like them, tho. they're good-hearted people, i can tell you this fs :))

kitkuna

my family and sukuna never really meet each other, and i believe that's for the best of everyone involved. idk wht's gonna happen if they do ever meet... o_o [me taking aspirin tablets for headaches is what will happen, i am DAMN SURE of this *SIGH*] the first time i meet uraume is the day sukuna abducts me from my home [i was honestly willing to go with him so idk how much of an abduction it is], and i'm so so so much in awe of their beauty, elegance, sense of duty---they're actually the 1st and only well-meaning friend i make in sukuna's place [yeah, i do regard us to be friends despite uraume saying they can't disrespect me by calling themselves friends with their queen; pls don't listen to them!!!] [they are also the wingperson 'kuna and i DON'T DESERVE but DESPERATELY NEED---i'm very thankful that i have someone like uraume to guide and support me in my life ^_____^]

[izzyshandz]

"You hate me, don’t you."

Izzy didn’t know how he felt about Stede anymore, so when he asked the question his mind went blank and his hands curled into fists.

"Well I wouldn’t say I like you."

He replied curtly, attempting to keep any and all formalities out of his gruff voice. Leave it up to Stede to bombard him first thing in the morning, this was common after Blackbeard- Ed. After Ed had begun his recovery of the mutiny; that thought causing a forlorn jab to pierce through his gut almost vicious enough to keel over-- but Izzy didn’t outwardly budge. Stede would approach him and ask him about his sleep, and his leg, oh he hated when Stede asked about his leg. The little squeezing finger movements he would make when he requested to massage it all better, the harsh string of beratement from Izzy’s lips had put a stop to that on day one. They would stand on the deck and Izzy would grunt orders at the crew who dutifully obliged, despite being demoted by Blackbeard the Gentleman pirate practically demanded he help him instead.

At first he profusely refused, until Frenchie made eyes at him; damn Frenchies eyes- claiming to be unable and unfit to really lead (Which Izzy sincerely doubted, but accepted as fact regardless.). His loyalty lies to that crew and no one else, so if directing them beneath the helm of the great Stede Bonnet was helping he would do it. It has roughly been a week with Stede back on the ship and Izzy was restless, he would hear the irritable creak and growl of Ed in the chambers of Stedes room followed by marital-like spatting. He wouldn’t deny when he saw the formerly-disliked pirate leaning over that desk talking about Ed burning everything around him, he saw himself in Stede and over the time he was beginning to realize how alike they were.

Not just their attachment to Blackbeard, the love; as it were past or present but the ability to place unwavering loyalties. Stede stepped up to him in ways that got him shot and Edward listened. Perhaps he was jealous, no he was absolutely jealous. Though the time he spent alone with Stede like this made that ebb away little by little, the sunny training sessions and the almost comical way they carried themselves around each other. Stede was a more well put together version of him, how he managed it he didn’t know but Izzy was determined to find that path on his own; he wasn’t the only teacher on the ship anymore.

"-But hates a strong word, Bonnet."

Izzy spoke up again, earning a wide-eyed stare which he spotted out of his peripheral. There’s that feeling in his stomach again, Stede is smiling. "I seem to recall you liked the word hate last time we saw each other."

"Last time we saw each other I sold you out."

"Oh yes- I remember very well. I still haven’t forgiven you for that, by the way."

Izzy grinned, Stede caught it but didn’t say a word; seeing Izzy smile was a rare occurrence and oddly he didn’t wish to startle it away from his expression.

"Yeah don’t worry you’re not the only one. I’ve not forgiven myself either."

Those words struck the other pirate with a pang of sadness, this poor… small man. He’s got so many issues. To be fair, they all do.

"Well that’s just sad, doubting your own choices like that." He offered unhelpfully, making Izzy steel his expression once more. It was true he had been through a lot this past year, the past ten… no twenty even; he’s had little to no time to stop. The first hand leaned forward and for once, relaxed his upper half against the ledge of the ship- staring out at the waves crashing against its hull. He could feel Stede close beside him, corralling to try and take a look at what Izzy found so interesting.

"I was a scared man, Bonnet." He began truthfully, the other wading into a silence and getting comfortable to listen; an encouraging smile on his face the whole time. "Scared of the future, scared of the ship, scared of you."

"Of me!" The incredulous gasp met his ears, earning a short glare from the shorter male which briskly shut him up.

"I kept running into you." He admitted, "It was stupid, I suppose looking back. The instant Ed heard about you I felt-" Stede held his breath for the words he was about to hear.

"Useless."

The gentleman pirate deflated. "I had no idea you felt that way Izzy. If you had said something-" He began, immediately being cut off by a growl. "-nothing would’ve changed. Ed would still be head over heels flailing at you in a silk dressing gown and you would’ve broken him all the same." The pair stared at each other in unabashed silence for a moment before Izzy looked away briskly. "Maybe if I hadn’t have tried to speak against him I would’ve been fine." He sounded remorseful, that made Stede settle into silence.

"We’ve both fucked up quite a lot, haven’t we?"

Stede asked softly, earning another grin from Izzy. "We have, in some ways. We’ve all done something wrong, Bonnet." He turned to him again, this time a bit less gruff. "At least you haven’t lost a leg, Yet."

The man paled with horror at the thought, "Well at least you look absolutely fantastic with that leg Pete helped whittle for you!" He’d blush at the compliment if he realized it was for him and not Pete, chin coming to rest on his arm.

"Izzy-"

"Israel."

They both stilled, and he almost felt fucking timid. Stomaching that down he stood, attempting to ride off the briefly vulnerable moment shared between them. "You’re my captain, so you get to call me Israel." His chest felt absolutely sick as that cursed smile met him, it was so sickly sweet he feared he would hurl.

"Israel." Stede started fondly, a genuine note of true happiness to his lips as he nudged his hand against the others resting on the ship. "I’m quite honored to have your wisdom and experience aboard my ship. If you ever need to talk more-"

Yep. That’s it. "Say another word and I’ll chop your balls off." He said suddenly, sharply. Staring away with a visible tint to his features that did not go unnoticed by Stede, earning a gentle: "Noted." In his wake as he strode off to make sure Fang wasn’t slacking off. Didn’t matter if he was, he just needed to hide before the embarrassment crept up to his ears.

[phightinghottakes]

ik that people have probably said similar to what i'm saying rn but i personally think medhammer and subkit are both very bad ships for the same reason imo. i cant ship them because they'd be pretty damn toxic if not going off of an enemies to lovers or perfect universe au or smth. it would be hard to execute them properly

i dont have anything against medhammer and subkit shippers, as long as they're executing it properly, but if you're gonna ship one of them and call the other one toxic, oh boy hypocrite alert. you can dislike the other one but if it's because "iT'S tOXiC!!!!1!11!" then you have literally no right to ship the other one. why? because if you didn't make it perfect that'd be. guess what. Toxic.

idgaf about what you ship, as long as it's not poorly executed or proship, but jesus learn how to maybe not be a hypocrite and do yourself a favor?

tldr if you like medhammer but hate subkit because subkit is toxic or vice versa you have no right to ship that ship at all.

sincerely, Rain anon (🌧️ anon? idk if that's taken but if needed refer to me as either one)

.

[cyrusthedragon]

I almost hate how conservative (?) i am about miraxus... Lemme explain myself.

To begin with, I'm a classical nalu (x nagray, cuz natsu and gray are a married couple, i don't make the rules), and i love gajevy, and my other (other-other) pairings are hannigram, sns, sterek, destiel, geraskier, draciolus (if you know - you know), eruri, like..im a classical pansexual they/them with classic ass OTPs, and most of them are fuckin' GAY, and ofc i love it ... More gay = good for me, i love gay people, these are my people, my nation. Even the fuckin' Zukka. I love 'em. I think everyone should be gay.

But miraxus?

Heterosexuals.

Hundred percent.

Fucking heterosexuals.

I'm SHAKING abt it, LIKE, DAMN, BOTH OF YOU ARE SO FUCKIN' FRUITY, LIKE, LAXUS, THE FUCK DO YOU LOOK LIKE THAT? U GAY MAN. U FUCKIN' BEAR. WHY ARE YOU SO GAY. And I'm looking at Mirajane and you don't know but SHE IS MY WIFE, AND I AM FEMALE, MY SEX IS FEMALE, SHE IS- SHE IS LIKE A DREAM. HAVE YOU SEEN HER? SHE'S. SHE'S. SHE!!!! S H E ! ! ! ! SHOULD I REALLY EXPLAIN MYSELF? MIRAJANE FUCKIN' STRAUSS.

But then.

I prefer to listen to my inner voice.

And my inner voice is saying they're both heterosexuals. MAXIMUM bisexuals. I can't explain it, i seriously cannot, i just genuinely think Mirajane somehow likes men (eeewwwww, ghoooorl, whyyyyyy), and Laxus likes women (understandable. relatable.), and I'm comfortable with it. I just think that's how it is, cuz it's fine - being heterosexual. I love them no matter what. And i know a lot of people ship also Mirajane x Erza, and i think it's wonderful, like, they are wives, c'mon, they are... But 2x.

Please tell me I'm not the only one who can separate canon-canon, fanon-canon, and fanon-fanon. Please. I need to know I'm not alone in this fucking fandom thinking this way. I really need it. I swear.

Canon-canon: we don't know their (miraxus) sexuality, so they can be whatever they want, they don't show any romantic interest in anyone in the PLOT of the anime/manga, in the action, not covers, etc.

Fanon-canon: Mirajane and Laxus are at least bisexuals and are prolly gonna end up together, Mashima said so, i think so, that's understandable and logical for me, i (personally) like it, cuz their personalities suit each other, that's why i wholeheartedly ship miraxus.

Fanon-fanon: they are all gay. All of them. All on them. Not a single person in that fucking guild is even a slightest bit hetero. No one. Literally zero heterosexuality per person. This is THE guild of lesbians and gays. AND I LOVE IT. I truly sincerely absolutely love it (cuz it once again makes Mirajane MY WIFEY, I LOVE MY WIFE!!!!).

And there's a second thing i hate abt myself when i think about miraxus compared to every single other pair i ship: when i think abt eruri or sns or *whoever* i think like yeah, they're gonna have max. two kids. That's all. Three - is unbelievable, but acceptable. But like..more on the unbelievable side, ykwim. Highly likely just two kids.

BUT MIRAXIS? IN MY HEAD? IN MY FANON-FANON HEAD? FIVE. And never less. (In fanon-canon just three).

FIVE CHILDREN. FIVE. FIVE FUCKIN' CHILDREN. I HAVE NO IDEA WHY BUT I LOVE IT. I LOVE IT. I DON'T KNOW WHY. I JUST DO. The older twins (boy and girl, ctrl c & ctrl v, the girl is copied from Laxus, the boy is completely Mirajane's child, except for appearance). Then - the third boy, and now HE'S looking like Mirajane, and calm like adult-her (not when he's pissed off, tho, when he's pissed off he's gonna throw you at a fuckin' wall with his confident soothing smile remaining). Then is the fourth girl with Laxus's hair and she's her grand grandpa's baby, she's like fem!Makarov, my ghorl is a calm clown, you don't know she's high until she opens her mouth. The fifth is also a girl and she's the best. And beast. Have you ever seen a baby capable of killing the whole guilt at the age of two years? She can. Cuz she's just learning how to talk and dad once said 'fairy law' and she repeated it and, well, they're so lucky she doesn't hate anybody........... They're so lucky... And now she's banned from magic. Yeah.

The happy family. One Mirajane, one Laxus, one miraxus mix, one Makarov copie, and one FUCKIN' DISASTER. Lovely, lovely children...

Am I okay? No, I'm not, wtf.

[pure-garbage]

Aftermath Of Victory... Soup And Solipsism

"I hate your knife, Lana!"

Of all the people Lana expected to be scolded by, Chopper had been at the very bottom of the list.

"Hey, don't hate, Anyorith is a good knife!" Lana said defensively, one hand creeping to the dagger at her hip. "You'll hurt his feelings!"

"That weapon is cruel and unnecessarily brutal and someone needs to throw it into the ocean!" Chopper scowled insistently.

"Look, can you get my tip out of Caesar Clown, or what?!" Lana demanded with an ever deepening frown.

"I can, but it's going to be a whole operation! What that knife did to his organs was inhumane!" Chopper went on furiously.

"Inhumane?! He's inhumane, he had it coming!" Lana snarled back. "Not an hour ago you were up in arms over his experiments, shouldn't you just be happy he's not at large anymore?!"

"No one has something like this coming!" Chopper protested stubbornly. "And it's true what he did was reprehensible, but don't you think resorting to this kind of over-the-top violence is the same thing as stooping to his level?!"

"Luffy was the one who stabbed him! Are you trying to say Luffy's on the same level with that scumbag?!" Lana challenged heatedly.

"Hey, hey, what's the problem here, kids?" Zoro broke in, strolling closer with two bowls of soup. He kept one for himself and offered the other to Lana, who accepted gratefully.

"Oh, Chopper's mad because Luffy stabbed Caesar Clown in the kidney or something," Lana said dismissively, digging in to the soup with gusto. "Mm! Sanji's?"

"You know it."

"Damn that man can cook!"

"You're taking what happened way too lightly!" Chopper insisted. "The way those tips are barbed makes them really hard to remove if they're lodged more than an inch or two deep!"

"Mm, yeah, pretty sure that's the point," Lana said absently. "Chopper, did you get some soup yet? This is really good! You're probably just hungry. I'm sure you'll calm down after you get something to eat."

"I'M ANGRY BECAUSE YOUR WEAPON IS A MENACE, NOT BECAUSE I'M HUNGRY!" Chopper shouted, shifting into heavy point unintentionally.

"Okay, but are you also hungry?" Lana pressed, unfazed by her friend's suddenly towering stature.

"YES!"

"Good, go get some soup."

"I WILL! BUT I STILL HATE YOUR KNIFE!"

"Good for you, buddy you're very ethical," Lana congratulated him sincerely as he stomped off furiously.

"Were you this catty two years ago?" Zoro asked suspiciously.

"I don't know. Was I?" Lana shrugged.

"I don't think so."

"Sucks to be the rest of you, I guess."

"Mrrrow."

"Sounds to me like you're not mad about it," Lana noted with some amusement.

"Hmph, not yet. I'm sure you'll start getting under my skin soon enough," Zoro smirked.

"So... I'm still pretty confused about what's going on," Lana admitted, gaze full of consternation as she fixed it to Sanji's samurai and the pink dragon he claimed was his son. "Did Luffy invite those two to join the crew, or...?"

"I'm sure he did, but as of now, they're just passengers," Zoro informed her. The pair settled against the rail of the ship as they finished their food. Lana shrugged out of one arm of the stolen coat Zoro had lent her, wrapping it around him and snuggling close to his side. He wound one arm over her shoulders inside the fur, sighing contentedly as they both relaxed for the first time since arriving on Punk Hazard.

"Passengers... and where are we going next?" Lana asked.

"No idea yet. That's always up to Luffy... I get the feeling that Traffy has more work for us and I don't see Luffy breaking off this alliance of theirs anytime soon either."

"Great. So now we work for a warlord?" Lana grumbled.

"Not at all. I don't know about you, but I'm still just following Luffy's orders. He's not a joiner... I'm sure he'll split from Traffy's plan when it suits him," Zoro grinned.

"Luffy sure seems fond of Law. He mentioned he saved Luffy's life once. Think he was telling the truth?"

"Must have been, because Luffy told me just about the same thing," Zoro confirmed.

"What a mess."

"No more of a mess than usual from where I'm sitting. At least I've finally got you back in my line of sight," Zoro pointed out. "You really had me worried when you went missing, you know."

"Went missing? I think you mean when Law abducted me."

"Yeah. When Law abducted you. That reminds me... he mentioned that the gas they used on the rest of the crew didn't affect you," Zoro remembered. "And Luffy said something to the same effect happened when you tried and failed to rescue him."

"Hey! He ended up rescued just fine," Lana griped.

"Sure. Anyway, I meant to ask... why doesn't the gas work on you?" Zoro puzzled. "Luffy developed insane poison resistances while we were all separated. Did the same thing happen to you?"

"Uh... well, no, not exactly."

"What then?"

"It's kind of private," Lana sighed, biting her lip.

The wary response only served to further inflame Zoro's curiosity.

"Too private to tell me about?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I... uh..."

'I guess it does sort of affect him too,' Lana realized for the first time. 'Maybe I owe it to him to tell him... he probably won't even care. But what if he does? What if he has a problem with it? I have a hard time imagining that he would... so why do I feel so nervous about telling him?'

Lana powered through her anxiety and forced herself to just spit it out.

"Well, the poison in the gas is... this is kind of a funny coincidence, actually," Lana chuckled, struggling to keep her nerves in check to go on. "... and a really lucky one at that, at least for me. But it's made from a plant I make tea from a lot."

"Hm, you do love tea," Zoro mused. "Why would you make tea out of a poison plant though? That doesn't make a lot of sense."

'He thinks I love tea? I guess I'm always drinking the stuff... but only because I have to. I actually don't even like tea. Especially not that nasty swill,' Lana thought, amused by his interpretation of her rituals.

"It's medicinal," Lana sighed. "In a certain sense."

"I don't get it. It's good for your immune system or something? If that's the case, why are you the only one drinking it?" Zoro puzzled. "I don't like getting sick either, you know."

"No, it doesn't ward off colds, Zoro. It prevents... pregnancy."

Lana watched the gears turn over in Zoro's head as he processed the new information. She held her breath waiting for his response. He didn't keep her waiting long.

"Oh. That makes sense."

He settled back against the rail, seemingly with nothing else to say. Lana breathed a sigh of relief, tension melting out of her as she chastised herself internally for worrying about his reaction.

'Of course he's fine with me regulating my own body. Why wouldn't he be fine with that? That was a dumb thing to be anxious about.'

"You know something, Lana?"

"Hm?"

She settled even deeper into his embrace, exhaustion creeping over her as the action-packed day finally drew to a peaceful close.

"I was never lonely before I met you," Zoro grumbled unhappily.

"Aw. Don't feel lonely. I'm not going anywhere," Lana mumbled sleepily.

"You're always gone off somewhere."

"We do get separated a lot, huh? We could try harder to stick together," she suggested.

"I'd like that."

"Me too. It's a promise then?"

"Promise."

He hooked his little finger around hers, responding to her drowsy smile with a small one of his own. She sighed heavily and let her eyes slide shut while he laced their fingers together loosely. He thought she'd gone to sleep until she spoke again.

"Zoro?"

"Yeah?"

"I was always lonely before I met you," she sighed.

"Guess it's a good thing I'm here now," he concluded with some amusement. Lana could only nod against his chest as she surrendered to the comforting abyss of sleep.

________________________________________

<== Previous Chapter

Next Chapter ==>

== First Chapter ==

[vegaseatsass]

When I don't have a crazed hyperfixation I feel more or less fine (less usually depends on the world around me and not my fandom experience), but when I do have a crazed hyperfixation I'm like "damn, how was I living without this a week ago?? How was I surviving without this beautiful feeling??" Unfortunately the other thing having a crazed hyperfixation does to me is take me from someone who is genuinely, passionately interested in hearing contradicting opinions in any of my fandoms or ships - because getting different points of view about fiction sincerely makes my brain feel like it's being nourished, I literally need it to thrive, I hate being in insulated bubbles/fandom feedback chambers, one of the top things I seek out in fandom is differing perspectives - to, suddenly and only temporarily, someone who just wants to roll around in fandom euphoria uninterrupted. All of this makes me very annoying. It's hard when the tradeoff for great pleasure is great insufferability!!! And you know you're making the trade but you can't not make it!!!!!!