#she simply cannot help herself

[bakasara]

mame when sam finally breaks down and confesses he and john are together, by which point sam's "friend" sir john of liechtenstein has spent 300 hours at her house he and sam have shared sam's bed "out of convenience" 90 times john's helped her through 64 chores she's shared 50 family recipes with him and has recounted no less than 27 of sam's embarrassing childhood stories:

[sexynetra]

Poppy’s meet and greet photos with Anetra are everything I never knew I needed

[vibrantboredom]

I'm relistening to I am in Eskew at the same time as the Silt Verses come out and it's so fun seeing ideas introduced in Eskew resurface in TSV, like I just finished ep. 24 and the way the History Society works is so much like our new scary war saint!!! Obsessed

[stromblessed]

Mizu, femininity, and fallen sparrows

In my last post about Mizu and Akemi, I feel like I came across as overly critical of Mizu given that Mizu is a woman who - in her own words - has to live as a man in order to go down the path of revenge.

If she is ever discovered to be female by the wrong person, she will not only be unable to complete her quest, but there's a good chance that she'll be arrested or killed.

So it makes complete sense for Mizu to distance herself as much as possible from any behavior that she feels like would make someone question her sex.

I felt so indignant toward Mizu on my first couple watchthroughs for this moment. Why couldn't Mizu bribe the woman and her child's way into the city too? If Mizu is presenting as a man, couldn't she claim to be the woman's escort?

However, this moment makes things pretty clear. Mizu knows all too well the plight of women in her society. She knows it so well that she cannot risk ever finding herself back in their position again. She helps in what little way she can - without drawing attention to herself.

Mizu is not a hero and she is not one to make of herself a martyr - she will not set herself on fire to keep others warm. There's room to argue that Mizu shouldn't prioritize her quest over people's lives, but given the collateral damage Mizu can live with in almost every episode of season 1, Mizu is simply not operating under that kind of morality at this point. ("You don't know what I've done to reach you," Mizu tells Fowler.)

And while I still feel like Mizu has an obvious and established blind spot when it comes to Akemi because of their differences in station, such that Mizu's judgment of Akemi and actions in episode 5 are the result of prejudice rather than the result of Mizu's caution, I also want to establish that Mizu is just as caged as Akemi is, despite her technically having more freedom while living as a man.

Mizu can hide her mixed race identity some of the time, and she can hide her sex almost all of the time, but being able to operate outside of her society's strict rules for women does not mean she cannot see their plight.

It does not mean she doesn't hurt for them.

Back to Mizu and collateral damage, remember that sparrow?

While Mizu is breaking into Boss Hamata's manse, she gets startled by a bird and kills it on reflex. She then cradles it in her hands - much more tenderly than we've seen Mizu treat almost anything up to this point in the season:

She then puts it in its nest, with its unhatched eggs. Almost like she's trying to make the death look natural. Or like an accident.

You see where I'm going with this.

When Mizu kills Kinuyo, Mizu lingers in the moment, holding the body tenderly:

And btw a lot of stuff about this show hit me hard, but this remains the biggest gut punch of them all for me, Mizu holding that poor girl's body close, GOD

When Mizu arranges the "scene of the crime," Kinuyo's body is delicate, birdlike. And Mizu is so shaken afterward that she gets sloppy. She's horrified at this kill to the point that she can't bring herself to take another innocent life - the boy who rats her out.

MIZU'S ONE MOMENT OF SOFTNESS AND MERCY, COMING ON THE HEELS OF HER NEEDING TO KILL A GIRL TO SPARE HER THE WORST FATE THAT THIS RIGID SOCIETY HAS TO OFFER WOMEN, AND TO SPARE A BROTHEL FULL OF INNOCENT WOMEN WHO ARE THE CASTOFFS OF SOCIETY, NEARLY RESULTS IN ALL OF THEIR DEATHS

No wonder Mizu is as stoic and cold as she is.

And no wonder Mizu has no patience for Akemi whatsoever right before the terrible reveal and the fight breaks out:

Speaking of Akemi - guess who else is compared to a bird!

The plumage is more colorful, a bit flashier. But a bird is a bird.

And, uh

Yeah.

I like to think that Mizu killing the sparrow is not only foreshadowing for what she must do to Kinuyo, but is also a representation of the choice she makes on Akemi's behalf. She decides to cage the bird because she believes the bird is "better off." Better off caged than... dead.

But because Mizu doesn't know Akemi or her situation, she of course doesn't realize that the bird is fated to die if it is caged and sent back home.

Mizu is clearly not happy, or pleased, or satisfied by allowing Akemi to be dragged back to her father:

But softness and mercy haven't gotten Mizu anywhere good, recently.

There is so much tragedy layered into Mizu's character, and it includes the things she has to witness and the choices she makes - or believes she has to make - involving women, when she herself can skirt around a lot of what her society throws at women. Although, I do believe that it comes at the cost of a part of Mizu's soul.

After all, I'm gonna be haunted for the rest of this show by Mizu's very first prayer in episode 1:

"LET" her die. Because as Ringo points out, she doesn't "know how" to die.

Kind of like another bird in this show:

[ozzgin]

Yandere!Merman x Reader x Yandere!Prince

One day, you bring home a monstrous creature as the future groom for the much-demanded marriage. The family is in despair, and a foreign Prince vows to change your mind. Based on Antonín Dvořák's Rusalka. content: gender neutral reader, angst, love triangle

You return home with a triumphant smile, marching towards the grand room and opening the doors with fanfare. Your family has been pestering you to get married for months now, piling endless proposals on your study desk and inviting nameless royalty to meet you in hopes they'd catch your interest.

"I have found a groom," you declare with a sombre, official tone as your parents nearly tumble out of their seats, rattling the afternoon teacups. The servants, too, swarm over to witness your arrival: they'd never heard such confidence in your voice.

They all gather around, lips pursed in expectation, eyes widened towards the entrance. At last, as promised, someone appears behind you: A pallid creature with a sickly face, walking along crookedly, with clumps of dark locks framing the length of his bony, slender body.

It's...monstrous. One maid begins to fan herself in horror, while your mother returns to her cushioned chair with trembling hands. What a frightful sight! Surely this can't be a proper human; a ghastly fiend, perhaps, a ghoul haunting the forests at night, but no man to stand with you before a holy altar!

"He said he loves me, you see," you explain with flushed cheeks. "Well, he didn't explicitly say it...as I don't think he can speak at all. Yet, I can tell."

The pale beast nods fervently to your words.

Oh, yes, he does love you so very much. After all, he sold his soul and his voice just to walk the Earth with you! From the moment he caught a glimpse of you, he knew you were meant to be his. A fate seamed by the Gods themselves; he was certain of it.

There was one hurdle he was forced to overcome in order to properly face you. He is a water spirit, you see. A merman, yes, that’s how the humans often call him. He dwells at the bottom of the ocean, swimming with the frothing waves, luring the unsuspecting sailors to their early demise. It was during one of your boat travels that he laid his eyes on you. Immediately, viciously, his heart begun to throb with yearning. He needed to have you in his embrace at all costs.

Consequently, and without much stalling, he decided to leave the azure of the sea behind and crawl his way on land, searching for his betrothed. His father was enraged, but he knew better than to prod his son’s stubbornness. Before he knew it, the sallow creature was obediently standing in front of Ježibaba the Witch, signing the cursed pact that would leave him mute. Should the love fade, she warned, he’d be dragged back into the depths, fettered by the swamp mud, cursed to live as a will-o’-the-wisp, bringer of death and despair.

Child, night after night your siblings will weep for you! There’s no help for you, once a human has enticed you into their power.

With limbs foreign to him, he pitifully stumbled across the shore, where you found him in the early hours of the morning. At last, he thought, he’d be at your side.

Your family is not alone in their sorrows. Among the many suitors, there’s a certain foreign Prince who’s not quite ready to accept your decision. No, it simply cannot be. No one else in this world loves you like he does; of that he is certain. Whatever vile charlatan you’ve brought into your home is all but a mockery in the face of his feelings.

With a wrathful step, he strides towards the castle, cursing this newfound love of yours. He doesn’t play games of fate, nor does he need the wicked magic of witches and devils. His pace is confident, imposing; a far cry from the meagre slither of the monstrous merman. There’s something your wild beast will never have, something his soul is devoid of: passion. Alas, you will soon discover what it truly means to be adored by a human. Not just any human, mind you, but someone of his nobility and virtue.

The prince is welcomed by a pair of whispering servants. They bemoan the terror that has befallen their estate, the trickery that engulfed your royal heart, causing you to long after a creature of the night. What could have possessed you in that very moment, when you stumbled upon the demon?

Like clockwork, their voices are abruptly hushed by the shuffle of uncertain feet. The men turn around and immediately frown at the mysterious groom. Whatever summoned him in their presence is irrelevant. The prince shoves the terrified group aside, standing proud before the crooked figure.

“I don’t know what sorcery lies at the bottom of your deceit - convincing someone of (Y/N)’s grace to even gaze in your direction - but you’re better off returning to the hole you crawled out of.”

He briefly glances at the servants who’re holding their breaths at the exchange.

“They bear witness to my mercy! I will allow you to leave, though mistake not my kindness for naivety. (Y/N) was promised to me in marriage, and I shan’t permit anyone to interfere with my plans. This sword,” he threatens, placing a hand over the leather sheath, “this sword has slayed ogres twice as frightful.”

He pauses, searching his rival’s eyes, unable to find the fear he hoped to instil with his intimidation tactics. Very well, if death isn’t the answer to ridding himself of the plague...

“I’ll tell you what,” the prince finally continues, twisting his mouth in a pained frown, “you’re fooling yourself if you think (Y/N) feels anything but pity for you. Can you look at me, man to man, and tell me you love them with the same passion?”

There it is, that cursed word once more, ensnarling him tightly and pressing against his chest like the branding of hot iron. The merman’s hands curl in a fist, yet he is unable to speak, to shout, to cry. The creeping shadow of doubt suddenly engulfs him: is it truly the lack of voice that holds him back? Or might this man speak the truth? He is, after all, a monster that was never meant to walk on land, a spirit belonging to the waters. Could his adoration compare with that of other humans, with their warmth, with their vigorous, beating hearts?

A thread snaps. The merman’s soul is heavy, trampled by gloom and despair. Perhaps the Gods were merely laughing at his ridiculous dreams, dangling the hook of false hope before his hungry jaws, watching him writhe on the surface until the lungs collapse. The ground spins and the air is bitter, scorching his throat. As if pulled by invisible hands, his body hurries outside, across the rocky shore and into the foam of the waves; Ježibaba’s words echo against his eardrums. He sinks.

“Where’s the groom?”

You freeze in the doorframe, baffled to find one of your suitors in your room. The foreign prince welcomes you with a deep bow, gripping one of your hands with greed and pressing it against his lips.

“It has returned to its depths. I hope you understand,” he pleads, almost throwing himself at your feet. “Such a creature has no place among us.”

“What nonsense are you spewing?” the venom in your words causes the young man to tug at his chest. What must he do for you to accept him?

You nonchalantly slap his hand off you, then turn on your heels and scurry down the hall, followed by the panicked prince.

“Don’t be foolish! He’s been cursed, a damned ghoul dwelling at the bottom of the swamp, drowning humans who wander too close.”

His usual tenacity has faded, voice cracking with anguish and envy. This time it’s you who walks with unbreaking determination, reaching for the marsh. His mind races within a fog, trying to come up with a way to stop you in your tracks. He could draw his weapon, of course. Instinctually, his toned arm grips the handle, picturing the swing of the blade - a necessary evil? No, you’d never forgive such violence, and he can’t bear the thought of you despising him anymore than you do now.

It’s too late. Your expensive, polished shoes dip lightly into the mud, causing you to advance more steadily. You begin shouting without aim, scanning the area and praying for an answer.

Truth be told, he was indeed hoping you would return: the faintest of wish he dared to keep in his aching heart. The merman claws his way out of the murk, revealing his even paler figure. His beloved, his dearest! To see you in front of him like this is worth all the damnation in the world.

The prince involuntarily grabs your wrist. This is his final chance to convince you of his devotion, of his undying loyalty. He would burn the entire world down just to have you look in his direction. A vague smile crosses his face; to hear his own shameless thoughts...A noble turned into a beggar. He never expected to find himself trapped in such a miserable yearning.

The swamp is quiet, save for your laboured breaths. You’re burdened by indecisiveness. You...

[celuere]

kiss it, bite it, can i fit it?

pairing: arlecchino x fem!reader

context: your first time getting dragged into a lesbian bar after you came to therealization that men are simply just not for you. little did you know, your friends already had someone set up for you…

cw: modern au, dilf arle, implied age gap, shameless flirting, reader is lowkey inexperienced, strap-on, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, arle introduces you into the world of awesome sesbian lex, body worship, modern arle has her whole arms tattooed and you cannot convince me otherwise, no shade thrown on my bisexual icons, i am one myself pookies

word count: 2.9k

i‘m watching snapcubes sonic fandub while writing so i‘m sorry for any lack of braincells in this one

 „furina i… i really don‘t know if this was a good idea…“

it was currently 8:47pm on a saturday night and you were stuck in a lesbian bar  to which your friends furina and navia dragged you to, insisting it‘s a… great way to get you started!

one hour later navia sneaked off to talk to the purple-haired bartender and furina just nervously checked her phone every few minutes while she seems to be friends with quite a lot of todays visitors.

and you? you just stared holes into your cocktail you didn‘t touch for a single time. debating wether or not you should excuse yourself and drive home. you felt a little out of place here in this small community.

finally, furina‘s phone blinked up and her eyes widened before they found yours, a mischievous grin slowly spreading over her face.

she planned something. no wonder she kept checking her phone every few minutes.

„oh, this was a fantastic idea… you really thought i‘d just drag you here for fun…? i actually got the perfect match for you.“, patting herself on the shoulder for how good her plan seems to go so far, you wanted to choke her.

„that is not what we talked about-!“

„oh, this is exactly what we talked about! i pinky promise you will like her! she is an entomologist at the nearby institute, can name every insect and spider by a simple look and-“

„o-okay, okay, I get it-! still, i would have liked a little warning!“, you bent over the table to pinch her into the cheek.

„ow-ow-ow!! i-i knew you‘d have dipped if i told you about it-! now let got o-of me-!“, you sighed as you freed furina‘s cheek from your deathgrip and looked back down into the distorted reflection of your face in your drink.

„i‘m still new to all this so-“, you halted mid sentence when you noticed that the seat in front of you was suddenly empty, even her drink was gone.

oh this little-

„furina wasn‘t exaggerating when she told me about you being good on the eyes…“, a rather deep female voice spoke up behind you over the music before she came into view.

and all you wanted to do is get on your knees and thank furina over a million times for forcing you out of your apartment today.

because it was so worth it for the woman currently standing before you.

with her white-black hair being put up into a rather not so tidy bun, down to the fancy silken shirt being half unbuttoned… and the tattoos running both of her hands up to her forearms before disappearing underneath the fabric.

what in the world.

„i…“, you were forced to clear your throat before answering her, „y-yes… i think that would happen to be me…“, you looked her down once again. twice again. thrice again.

„sweetheart, if you‘re done undressing me with your eyes, i would love to get us both out of here. i‘m not exactly a fan of bars and clubs…“, flashing you a short smile, she put both her hands into the pockets of her pants.

„i- o-oh, goodness i-i‘m so sorry-! let me just-“, quickly gathering your stuff, you threw your jacket over your shoulder and got up from your seat, „good to go now-!“.

„and i haven‘t even properly introduced myself to you… a little excited, hm?“, she chuckled lowly before holding our her hand to you, „peruere. and your name is…?“, she couldn‘t help but let a chuckle slip past her lips at your almost humiliated expression.

that smile was driving you fucking insane.

 „my uh name is [name]! it is nice meeting you, peruere-!“, taking her extraordinarily warm hand into yours and giving it a light squeeze, suddenly leaving your apartment for tonight sounded like the best idea ever.

„the pleasure is all mine. now shall we get going…? it is a little too crowded in here for my taste…“.

peruere turned out to be a pleasant conversation partner. whatever topic you choose, she had a vast knowledge on almost everything and a charismatic touch to it too. it also came to your attention that she has three adopted children, a son aged 13 and a set of 16 year old twins.

„may i ask how you realized that just… men were not for you? that is a huge realization after all, not everyone can so easily come to term with.“, taking a turn with you to the left leading slowly to the exit of the park you were currently strolling around.

„it was… a little scary to be fair… but after countless failed relationships and dates, i slowly started to maybe consider that i‘m just not really interested in men. and after i went on yet another date i realized mid conversation that this is just… not for me? if that makes any sense… furina and my other friends certainly didn‘t seem surprised at all on the other hand, which was… a little embarrassing if i am being honest.“, you scratched the back of your head as you nervously laughed your own words off.

but peruere just looked straight down at you, not a hint of amusement in sight at your story, „it‘s not embarrassing at all. sometimes you have to try things out and make a few wrong choices before coming to the conclusion that you maybe have to handle things differently. you are not weird for discovering yourself fully in your mid twenties. look, my youngest son ist 13 years old and just now realized that he in fact does not like his astrology themed bedroom… after we had it completely decorated from ceiling to floor. guess we have to go for the undersea theme he has been wanting so dearly now. that is just part of growing up.“, she couldn‘t help but shove a few strands of your hair behind you ear.

„just like i am now realizing how beautiful you actually look in this particular light…“.

your body felt suddenly too hot for the clothes you were wearing, you weren‘t used to such… personal compliments from an almost stranger. even tho you never had as much chemistry with your previous dates as you did with her…

„y-you really are too sweet…w-we barely know each other, yet you speak to me as if it were ages…“

„i‘m not a fan of idle chitchat were i‘m simply listing up my favorite colors and how many steps it takes me from my bedroom into the bath.“, she is crossing her arms now and blowing a bit of her own hair out of her face.

„well… i would still like the answer to both of these things…“

something flashed up in the much taller woman‘s eyes.

„red and 14.“

you didn‘t know how the both of you made it to your apartment complex without clawing your clothes off. as soon as the elevator was closed, she was all over you. hands grabbing onto whatever curve they could as her lips moved against yours in an almost sexual manner. sucking on your tongue before pushing her own inside your mouth, teeth clashing together as if she wanted to eat you right up. your mixed saliva was running down the corner of your mouth when the elevator reached its destination.

„forgive me my… urgent behavior… it has been a while since i left the house for something like… a date…“, she stepped away from you, but not before wiping your chin clean of any spit with her thumb and stepping aside, „be so kind and lead the way, dear.“.

you just laughed her off as you walked into the hallway to your door, already fishing out the keys, „really this long…? i guess coming around is a little difficult with three kids to take care of and a career.“, sticking the key now into the hole and twisting it.

„it‘s not exactly something i mind. i choose to adopt them willingly. sure, a little more time to myself would be nice from time to time… but being a father has been nothing but fulfilling to me. i just wish lyney would stop setting things on fire for his magical tricks…“, she followed you inside your lofty abode, immediately taking her shoes off.

„that sounds… not really fun to worry about…“, you barely hung up your jacket when peruere‘s hand wrapped around your waist, tugging you back against her. hot breath hitting your ear as she leaned down to your height.

 „i have something much better on my mind right now anyways.“, pressing a gentle kiss to your ear that sent shivers down your spine, „which way is your bedroom, lovely…?“

„it‘s right at the end of the hallway… i just…“, you looked completely embarrassed away as you turned around, a light blush adorning your cheeks as you avoided eye contact.

„since i uh… did not expect this evening to take such a… turn… i did not take any appropriate measures beforehand…“

that woman looked never more puzzled in her life.

„as in…?“

„i did not shave…“, it was barely an inaudible mumble.

„excuse me, i did not quite catch that… try speaking up a little.“, she almost looked a little amused.

repeating yourself never felt more embarrassing, „i… did not shave… i‘m sorry…“

silence.

 „get your ass into that bed.“

she might as well just slapped you across the face.

„i- how?? isn‘t that the standard?“, you were literally getting shoved into the direction of your bedroom.

„if you think a bit of body hair is scaring me off, then i must disappoint you.“

as soon as you reached your bedroom, she was already fumbling with the buttons of your shirt.

„i-it‘s just that my previous dates were usually never fond of it-!“, a moan slipped out your mouth as she suddenly found her lips plastered on your neck, licking and sucking and search of your most sensitive spot.

her next words came out slightly muffled against your skin.

„they must have been cowards.“

the next moments were a mess of clothes just getting ripped off of you and herself unti you were left in nothin but half opened bra as peruere left a trail of hot and greedy kisses down your stomach. 

„relax and lay back for me. mhm… just like that…“, watching you as you laid back on your mattress only to feel her parting your legs and throwing them over her shoulders, you soon felt her lips caressing the soft flesh of your inner thighs.

„so beautiful… all ready for me… don‘t mind if i do…“, she didn‘t give you the chance to reply before she buried her head between your legs, tongue lapping up and down your folds and making sure to savor every drop of your arousal, prying your lips apart with her two fingers as she plunged her tongue finally into your aching pussy. she had you gripping the sheets with one hand her hair with the other in a matter of seconds. one moan after the other stumbling out of your mouth as quite literally fucked you with her bare tongue, her own groans of pleasure being drowned out by your cunt. she was treating you like a gourmet dinner, and holy mother on earth- you never experienced anything like this. she had technique, rhythm, everything. when she slipped the two fingers that were spreading you apart for her tongue, inside of you, it was as good as over of you. 

it took her merely a few experimental thrusts and curls of her hands before she found an enjoyable rhythm for you, and your g-spot along with it. with her mouth now wrapping around your already sensitive clit, you were hanging by a thread. her name was everything occupying your mind while you were swiped empty of anything else other than the woman feasting on your pussy like she has been starved for the past centuries. 

with the occasional spread of her fingers inside of you and her digits rubbing your sweet spot to mush, it unsurprisingly did not take long for you until your legs were quivering around her head, your juices spilling right over her fingers, you were technically fucking her face.

„mh-“, she allowed you to let you ride out your high on her hand before slowly rising back up from between your legs  and withdrawing her fingers.

„my… such a good girl… that certainly looked like it felt good, didnt it?“, licking over her lips before moving her soaked fingers up to her mouth, she didn’t break eye contact when putting her fingers between her lips to lick them clean of any of your remains.

holy mother of god.

you could only stare. panting. leaking. as she swirled her tongue around her fingers, even having the guts to slightly moan at the taste of you.

did she plan on killing you? because it was working.

„my… out of words, dove…?“, slowly letting her gaze glide over your shaking figure, a slight smirk tugged on the woman‘s lips. she was satisfied with the results of her works.

when you nodded lightly to her question she chuckled, „adorable… the chances are low, but you don‘t happen to own a strap-on do you?“

another reason to thank furina. she thought it was a funny idea to gift you one as your „coming-out-gift“. you thought she was being ridiculous. now you couldn‘t stop praising her in your mind.

„a-actually I do… left nightstand, l-lower drawer…“, you watched her hum in delight as she followed your instructions.

„now isn’t that just convenient for the both of us…“, peruere eyed the harness for a few seconds before it was buckled on around her hips with nothing more than a few smart handgrips. this woman couldn’t get any better. right…?

„my love, you are staring again.“, now laughing slightly as she leaned over you, a hand running down your thigh before pushing it up against your chest, you soon felt the tip of the dildo pressing against your drenched entrance.

„i just… i-i‘m just wondering… hah… what about y-your pleasure…? let me return the favor- ah-!“, peruere looked down at you as if you just said the cutest thing in the whole world as she pressed the tip inside.

she only spoke up after grabbing your chin and adding a few more inches into your clenching cunt.

„my pleasure? this. this right here…“, she slowly bends down to your face as you felt the tip kissing your cervix. you were now panting and whining right into her face.

„…is my pleasure.“, dragging her hips back before thrusting them right back into you as the older woman watched you fall apart underneath her with each of her movements, she angled her hips differently with each thrust, trying to see which one you enjoyed most before picking up the pace. 

everything was too much. her hitting your sensitive spot with each fuck of her hips back against yours. the hungry and desperate kisses she was showering you in. her free hand pulling and massaging your tit. it was simply too much for you. you had plenty of men before her but none of them ever cared to make you feel this fucking good. to make you moan right into the kisses she was drowning you in until you were gasping for air, running your hands through her messed up hair. then grabbing onto her toned shoulders when you begged her between soft whines and desperate pleas to fuck you harder. to show you what you have been missing out on with her.

she did not stop after you came a second time. nor after the third time.

you were all sobby and sweaty by the time she had you propped up in her lap, ramming her hips into yours while she gently encouraged you to ride her.

„just like that, doll… look at how great you are doing for me. does that feel good hm? i‘m sure it does… just look at how drenched my lap is in your arousal.“, she reached up to pull you into a hot kiss by your neck.

„one more, my pretty thing. you can do that for me. can‘t you?“, whispered words against your lips before pulling you right back against hers. her free had guiding you by your ass over her dick as you poor fucked out thing could do nothing but ride her like a good girl. she is going to have so much fun with you in the future. she still had to show you so many things, you surely want to experience it all with her.

right?

she quickly recognized your body growing shakier and weaker once again „mhm, that‘s right, come all over my lap…“

and you obliged. not like you had any other chance.

she let you calm down first, coming into your ear before carefully lifting you off of her lap.

„so good… now relax while i am cleaning up our mess, alright?“

you managed a soft smile and thumbs up. you weren’t capable of more right now.

all hail to furina.

[steddie-lyfalling]

Steve Harrington knew what he was, he'd known for a little while now, he knew it simply and eloquently. Steve Harrington was, is, always will be, a placeholder.

Placeholder friend, placeholder son, placeholder boyfriend, placeholder brother, placeholder king. He existed for one reason, to be everything for someone, everything they needed. And, for a time, to feel that love and that everything in return. There until someone is more. More than he could ever be, more than needed. Wanted.

Nancy Wheeler had needed him for a while, a charming boyfriend who boosted her social status. She had needed someone to talk to, someone nice to look at, someone loyal with a good easy future ahead of him. But she wanted someone who would talk back, who was booksmart like her, who was interesting as well as interested. So she found that someone and walked away.

Dustin Henderson needed a big brother, some help with the "fairer sex" (Dustin's words), hair care tips and, along with the whole group of young little misfits, someone physically strong, broad and tall to protect them from monsters. Steve can already see this one waining, the wants outweighing the needs, who would want a bitchy older brother when you could have one who connects to your world, who plays your games, someone aloof and nerdy, dark and goofy, smart and funny. Someone better.

Even his parents had needed a child to carry their name and their status, but wanted a freedom he couldn't provide. Wanted a pride they could not find in him.

Robin will be the next to go, that one will hurt the most, she's basically a whole half of his own soul at this point, a full part of him. She's his everything. But college will be a whole new world, one where Steve's quips won't hold weight amongst Robin's new intellectual friends, where Steve's questioning nature about himself and his own sexuality won't hold a candle to the actual queer culture she's sure to find herself diving into. At least she'll call, she's too good, to perfect of a person, she'll stop needing him but she'll know he can't stop wanting her, so she'll call.

The thing is, it's all well and good figuring out your place in the world, how you fit around other people's lives. But it still hurts. It always hurts. It will never not hurt. Because hope, hope is a terrible thing, a thing that covers you in twisted vines until you can't see beyond the beautiful green of it, so when it's brutally stripped away darkness floods your vision and you cannot deny the loss. Hope hides the poison of loneliness, so, when it is pulled away, it's sweetness gone, it highlights the bitter poison left in its wake.

Thankfully, now he knows what to expect, he can prune and manage that hope, keep the green from obscuring his vision, keep the saccharine sweetness from disguising the poison. Leaving only a small tinge of green in the corner of his eye, and the bittersweet taste of liquorice on his lips. Of course the poison still burns his throat and eats away at his vital organs, but now he can see it being administered. Now he can't fall as far backwards.

The Eddie Munson of it all seems to have other ideas. Ever since meeting Eddie, properly meeting Eddie, and knowing Eddie, properly knowing Eddie, all Steve has seen is bright leafy green.

[lifeinked]

Why I Love Caitlyn, and Why You Hate Her

⚠️ READER DISCRETION: I am not condoning Caitlyn’s actions and behavior, I am simply exploring the depth of her character and explaining what motivated her pursuit of revenge.

There’s no denying the gravity of Caitlyn’s actions as they are unquestionably wrong. However, her character cannot be reduced to these actions alone. This sudden, devastating behavior of hers is shaped by a thread of complex motivations and circumstances, but many choose not to acknowledge this simply because of her elite background. 

Like many others, I initially overlooked the point of the gassing in Zaun, which I think is a crucial thing everyone must first understand before diving into the discourse over Caitlyn's character. 

The Grey, often misunderstood as being used indiscriminately, was strategically deployed against the Chem-Barons to limit collateral damage. Caitlyn chose precision over chaos, targeting those directly responsible for Zaun’s turmoil. Furthermore, Caitlyn didn’t kill the Chem-Barons; she captured them, with net-deploying bullets. While her methods are controversial, they reflect a calculated approach; mischaracterizing her raid as a reckless attack ignores these details.

This isn’t to deny or excuse the fact that Caitlyn did, indeed, gas Zaun. Who’s to say that gas didn’t seep into the streets where innocent Zaunites roamed, harming them in the process? It’s entirely possible that innocents were affected and devastated. However, my brief explanation is only added to gain better perspective over the objectives of the gassing itself.

Now moving on, despite her privileged upbringing, Caitlyn shows a genuine effort to understand and connect with Zaunites. She places her trust in Vi, a Zaunite she’s never met before, to guide her in her search for Silco. Her journey through the undercity opens her eyes to the struggles of its people, challenging her perspective.

In S1E4, when investigating the airship attack, she encounters an undercity resident and reassures him, “I can protect you.” Later in the season, when Vi gets stabbed, Caitlyn encounters someone formerly connected to Vi. He’s grown a distaste over himself due to his appearance, and yet Caitlyn embraces him with compassion and tenderness, as a silent sign of gratitude. Then, she surrenders her cherished firearm—her only means of protection—in return for a healing potion to save Vi. In S1E7, Caitlyn’s heartfelt monologue in her conversation with Ekko perfectly captures her hope and determination: “This city needs healing. More than I ever realized. Please, let me help you.”

When Caitlyn and Vi stand in front of the Council, Caitlyn declares: “Councilors, this is Vi. She was born in the undercity. Even though we failed her in countless ways, she risked everything to show me what life is really like down there. People are starving, sick, ravaged by Shimmer. They live in constant fear of the coordinated efforts of violent crime lords.” This monologue alone shows how Caitlyn embodies optimism, believing in the inherent goodness of people, even Zaunites. It also shows that she is very willing to fight for them; she sees helping Zaunites as an act of bringing justice and equality into this world.

Many overlook the depth of Cassandra and Caitlyn’s relationship, reducing it to a simple narrative of a daughter mourning her mother. However, Caitlyn’s mourning is more layered than that. Throughout her life, she has been rebellious, driven by a desire to uncover the reality her mother tried to shield her from. In S1E4, Caitlyn reflects on this by saying, “She’d do anything to keep me from seeing the real world.” Caitlyn’s defiance wasn’t just rebellion for its own sake—it was a stand for her ideals. She sought enlightenment and understanding, even if it meant stepping outside the privileged bubble her mother built for her. By venturing into the undercity and aligning herself with Vi, Caitlyn rejected her mother's own ideals.

Here's another scene in S1E8 that emphasizes this:

Cassandra: You're a Councilor's daughter. Your actions reflect on the entire body. Caitlyn: My actions? You know what else reflects on the Council? Its citizens living on the streets. Being poisoned. Having to chose between a kingpin who wants to exploit them and a government who doesn't give a shit!

In a way, her actions mirror Vi’s: just as Vi betrayed her people by working with the enforcers, Caitlyn betrayed her own mother by involving herself with Zaunites. Remember: The last time we see Caitlyn and Cassandra interact on-screen is during Caitlyn’s plea before the Council. And in that moment, Caitlyn was fighting to protect the very kind that would soon kill her own mother.

You say that Caitlyn’s drastic shift is unjustified, as she’s only experienced a fraction of the suffering Zaunites have been enduring. But that’s precisely the point! Her transformation shows how personal loss can drive the change of one’s entire character; she’s never experienced loss before which is why it feels so heavy for her. And unlike Zaunites, Caitlyn actually has the power to act on her grief. Zaunites have only known misery their whole lives. When their loved one dies, they know there is nothing more they can do but grieve. They don’t have an inch of the privilege and military support Caitlyn has. If you had given them the same resources as Caitlyn, they wouldn’t hesitate to bring ruin to Piltover. Simply put, they don’t fight Piltovans because they don’t want to, but because they can’t.

When Jinx takes her mother away, her compassionate ideals completely shatter. Having always sought justice and understanding for Zaun, Caitlyn feels deeply betrayed, as her faith in the good within every Zaunite is overturned. Her mother’s death becomes a turning point—driving her to abandon her ideals and adopt Piltover’s disdain for the undercity, finally understanding the resentment many Piltovans harbor.

We also tend to forget that, aside from losing her mother, Caitlyn has directly suffered under the hands of Jinx. Caitlyn was held captive by Jinx in Season 1—and God knows what was done to her during that period. In the tea party scene, we see Caitlyn break down in tears, visibly flinching when Jinx moves toward her. It’s clear that Jinx has traumatized Caitlyn not just once, but twice. These experiences deeply shape Caitlyn’s actions moving forward. The pain and fear she’s endured push her to a place where she’s willing to sacrifice almost anything, even if it means putting a child’s life at risk (Isha's) or severing ties with Vi.

While they share their differences, Caitlyn and Jinx are the perfect example of foil characters. Here’s an instance which proves this: Both allow themselves to be influenced by manipulative, powerful figures all while being in a vulnerable state of mind.

Jinx is haunted by guilt; her attempt to save her family only ended up killing them, leaving her with the crushing weight of self-blame. She clings to Silco, not because he was the father she needed, but because he was the father she wanted. Silco indulged her destructive tendencies, keeping her at an all-time high on the edges of chaos. Fragile and broken, Powder crossed paths with Silco at the right moment; he saw the perfect chance to mold her into someone bewildered, unrestrained, and astray.

Caitlyn has her own Silco: Ambessa, the ruthless Noxian leader with a brutal philosophy of war. Ambessa enters Caitlyn’s life at a pivotal moment, stepping in just as Caitlyn is grappling with the devastating loss of her mother. In a spiral of self-identity, Caitlyn struggles with the weight of Piltover’s expectations and her unresolved guilt over her strained relationship with her mother (as explained in previous paragraphs). Just as young Powder mourns her family, Caitlyn blames herself for the death of her mother. Caitlyn got herself involved with the Zaunites even when she was warned not to, and at the expense of her defiance came the death of her mother. Driven by guilt and a thirst for vengeance, Caitlyn steps fully into her role, declaring in S2E1: “I am a decorated officer. Leader of House Kiramman.”

Jinx and Caitlyn share a tragic parallel: they both lose everyone they hold dear. Jinx loses Vi, Vander, Claggor, and Mylo. Caitlyn is left without Cassandra, Vi, Jayce, Mel, and Tobias. Stripped of their support systems, they are left isolated, with no one to confide in or rely on. They become vulnerable, used as pawns in the larger schemes of Silco and Ambessa’s strategic games.

Caitlyn's inner turmoil is exactly why Ambessa’s manipulation is so effective. Caitlyn is compelled to take revenge, but she doesn’t know how to. And without anyone else to guide her, she places her complete trust in Ambessa's expertise. Ambessa doesn’t just give Caitlyn the authority and power to avenge her mother; she teaches her how to use them to their full potential. She toys with Caitlyn's vulnerability, making her adopt the Noxian values of wrath, bloodshed, and ruthlessness. 

It’s easy to downplay Caitlyn’s grief since she comes from an elite upbringing. While Cassandra Kiramman is laid to rest in a golden casket with a proper burial, countless innocents in Zaun become victims of merciless violence, being left to die on the streets. After the timeskip however, Caitlyn is shown to recognize the moral cost of her actions. Though the series portrays this realization subtly, it becomes evident that Caitlyn is grappling with the inhumanity and immorality of her pursuit of revenge. In S2E4, this internal conflict comes to light during her conversation with Ambessa. When Ambessa attempts to stoke her fury again, Caitlyn disarms her with a piercing question: “Why is peace always the justification for violence?”

Here's another scene that subtly depicts her realization and remorse:

Caitlyn: You're a monster. Why? Why do all this? Singed: Why does anyone commit acts others deem unspeakable? ... For love.

When Caitlyn steps further and sees Orianna, she realizes that Singed's revenge is a reflection of her own: a person grieving the death of their family member. Here, there's a saddened glint in her eyes. She finally understands now, that love and grief made her do things that once seemed so foreign to her. In this case, going against her own principles just to succeed in her revenge.

Caitlyn is now forever haunted by the outcome of her mistakes, but she knows her past cannot be erased. During her confrontation with Jinx in the prison, she admits, “No amount of good deeds can undo our crimes.” While this statement is directed at Jinx, it feels like Caitlyn also holds this against herself for her own wrongdoings. 

Caitlyn’s acts of atonement are done quietly. She’s not good with words; she’s bad at articulating how she feels. Ironically, Vi is much better than Caitlyn when it comes to confronting and vocalizing internal conflict. So instead, Caitlyn’s actions speak for herself. By removing the guards at the prison, she tacitly allows Vi the opportunity to rescue Jinx. She knows Vi will come to save her sister, and yet she lets her. She finally lets go of Jinx and the grudge she held against her, as a silent act of her love for Vi.

And in S2E9, Sevika is shown to be sitting among the Councilors. But thanks to a fan's keen eyes, we find out that she is sat particularly on Cassandra Kiramman's chair (which not many notice). By allowing a Zaunite to occupy her mother's seat, Caitlyn gives them a chance to be rightfully represented, a chance for their voices and suffering to finally be heard. It’s a quiet display of Caitlyn’s evolution and willingness to bridge the divide between Piltover and Zaun.

That said, Arcane’s ending left much to be desired regarding Caitlyn’s arc. The heavy focus on Hextech overshadowed the sociopolitical dynamics of Piltover and Zaun. This is the main reason a lot of hate is thrown toward Caitlyn—there is an act of accountability, but there a lack of consequence. While Caitlyn acknowledges her mistakes, her privileged status keeps her from real repercussions, unlike the tragedy other characters had to face. This is frustrating, even to me, as someone whose favorite character is Caitlyn. Yet, in a way, it realistically portrays the inequalities in our own world—where the elite are often shielded from justice, and repentance is the closest they ever come to redemption.

[mimikyuno]

YOU DONT UNDERSTAND SHE WAS READY TO TELL HER!! SHE WAS FINALLY FEELING ALMOST SAFE ENOUGH TO BE ABLE TO COME OUT ON HER OWN TERMS TO THE ONE WHO HAS WAITED BY HER SIDE, PATIENTLY WAITING ALL THIS TIME. YOU DONT UNDERSTAND SHE THINKS IT’S ALL RUINED!!!!! SHE HAD A TASTE OF REAL SISTERHOOD AND FEMALE FRIENDSHIP AND BEING ONE OF THE GIRLS WITHOUT ANY “IF” AND “BUT”. YOU DONT UNDERSTAND SHE IS OUT TO PEOPLE WHO LOVE HER ALREADY. AND SHE IS OUT TO TRANSPHOBIC ASSHOLES. SHE KNOWS THAT HER DEAREST FRIENDS WILL LOVE AND ACCEPT HER AND UNDERSTAND HER BUT SHE CANNOT TAKE THE CREEPING DOUBT THAT THEY’RE JUST BEING KIND OUT OF PITY AND ACTING LIKE NOTHING’S DIFFERENT WHEN TO MIZUKI EVERYTHING’S CHANGED!!! BECAUSE NOW THEY KNOW TOO AND SHE CANNOT TAKE THE THOUGHT OF THEM NOW NOT SEEING HER AS A “REAL GIRL”, AS HER BULLIES PUT IT. YOU DONT UNDERSTAND SHE TORE THE DRESSES AND BROKE HER MIRROR AND BLINDFOLDED HER EYES. SHE IS THAT REPULSIVE!! WHY COULDNT SHE BE BORN A “”REAL”” GIRL!!!! YOU DONT UNDERSTAND SHE WAS SO SCARED OF THEM FINDING OUT, ESPECIALLY ENA, AND NOW ENA FOUND OUT IN THE WORST WAY POSSIBLE!!! YOU DONT UNDERSTANDDDDD SHE WAS SCARED OF COMING OUT BUT ALSO IT WAS EATING AWAY AT HER AND MAKING HER DISTANCE HERSELF FROM THE REST OF NIIGO AND IT WAS ONLY THROUGH ENA’S KINDNESS AND INSISTENCE THAT SHE WAS ABLE TO NOT DISTANCE HERSELF COMPLETELY FROM THE OTHERS, BUT THAT ONLY MEANS THAT NOW IT HURTS THAT MUCH MORE TO LOSE THEM!!! AND LOSING THEM NOT EVEN BECAUSE THEY REJECTED HER BUT BECAUSE SHE REJECTED THEM BEFORE SHE COULD EVEN FACE THEM!!! YOU. DONT. UNDERSTAND. SHE IS GONE FROM THE REAL WORLD, SHE IS DEPICTED LIKE SHE IS ABOUT TO BE HANGED, BLINDFOLDED, OFFERING HER NECK, DEFEATED, AS THE LACES SHE SO CHERISHED FORM A LOOP IN THE FOREFRONT OF THE ILLUSTRATION, AS IF THEY ARE HER ROPE. SHE IS DISSOCIATED AND SUICIDAL AND IS ISOLATING HERSELF. YOU DONT UNDERSTAND SHE WAS ALWAYS SMILING AND PUTTING ON A BRAVE FACE – ALWAYS READING THE ROOM AND HELPING ENA, KANADE, AND MAFUYU WITH THEIR STRUGGLES, BIG AND SMALL, SIMPLY BC THEY WERE HER PRECIOUS FRIENDS!! YOU DONT. UNDERSTAND. SHE WAS ALREADY SUICIDAL IN MIDDLE SCHOOL, WHEN SHE WAS REPRESSING HERSELF AND REJECTING HER TRANSNESS, SHORT HAIR AND MALE UNIFORM. NIIGO WAS THE LIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT!! NIIGO WAS HER ANCHOR AND HER SAFE SPACE!! WITH NIIGO SHE COULD JUST BE “AMIA”, A GIRL, AND MAKE MUSIC AND FILL WITH LOVE AND WARMTH THOSE ENDLESS NIGHTS. SHE TRANSITIONED AFTER NIIGO GAVE HER A FEELING OF PURPOSE, “AH, LIFE IS WORTH LIVING AFTER ALL.” AND IT’S ALL GONE NOW. SHE SAW ENA’S SHOCKED FACE WHEN HER CLASSMATES OUTED HER WITH THEIR TRANSPHOBIC JOKES. IT’S ALL GONE. IN AN INSTANT. “DONT LOOK AT ME”. BUT ALSO. “DONT LEAVE ME.” GODDDDDD

[damneddamsy]

falling | joel miller x fem!oc (part ii)

MICROFRACTURE—A quiet crack, invisible but irreversible.

summary: Joel Miller never expected much out of Jackson—just a quiet place to live out the days he had left. But when a baby’s cries lead him to a mother unravelling under the pressure of nursing her child she never asked for, he finds himself tangled in something he can’t walk away from—no matter how much he tells himself he should.

a/n: on today's episode of 'angry idiots and sad assholes', introducing the one and only Joel Miller! I let out a few tears writing this one, too, it's really painful when you think about how Joel probably perceives himself, or how I think he does. onto other happier news, I simply cannot believe the kind of response the first part garnered, and I'm shook! rise up, depression girlies!!! To everyone who responded in the comments and reblogs, I've read them all twice over and giggled and twirled my hair and threw up butterflies. Thank you, and I hope you like this one! :)

Joel settled into his routine like a man settling into an old wound. Patrols, clearing trails, the stables, the repair shop, the bar, dinner in silence, rinse and repeat. It was easier that way—easier than thinking too much about a vain attempt. He ignored his neighbour’s existence completely. At least, that’s what he told himself.

But ignoring something didn’t make it disappear.

Every morning, he still ended up at the dining table—the one he never used—sipping his coffee too slow for his patience, gaze drawn to the big white house across the street like a goddamn magnet. Watching for movement. Watching for them.

And he fucking hated it.

Hated the part of him that waited, that noticed, that took account of the smallest details like they meant anything to him. Like he still had a reason to care.

Sometimes, Maya fussed too much, and Leela would come outside, her hair a little unkempt, gait all botched, but her hands steady as she cradled her baby against her chest. He saw her murmuring to the baby girl, pointing to the sky, the trees, the roiling clouds, the falling snow. A little trick from Maria, he figured. It worked well enough. Maya would quiet, those big brown eyes so curious, distracted by the vastness of the world she barely understood.

And Leela—she still looked tired. Still looked like she was moving through a fog, unseeing, carrying more than just the baby in her arms. But she took to Maya differently now, touched her calmly, like she was no longer afraid she might break her.

That was good. That meant she was doing fine. That meant she didn’t need him. And that meant Joel could stop worrying about the things that weren’t his to worry about.

Joel was outside, tightening the hinges on his porch gate, bracing against the cold, when he heard her steps crunching in the snow. Still quiet. Still waiting. He didn’t look up right away, just kept his focus on the task in front of him. If she needed something, she’d say it.

“Good morning, Joel,” Leela greeted warmly.

Joel gave a short nod, adjusting the grip on his screwdriver. “Mornin’.”

She lingered there. Honestly, he just wished she’d just go back inside. So, he kept working, unbothered, and didn't look up.

“Loose hinges?” she asked.

Courtesies. He wasn't falling for it. “Mhm.”

He knew when he wasn't wanted. She was finding her feet now, somewhat starting to take care of herself, carefully taking care of Maya. She didn’t need him checking in, didn’t need him hovering. And maybe—maybe that should’ve felt like a relief. It didn’t.

“You need anything else?” he asked, voice gruffer than he meant it to be.

“No, I just...” Leela wavered, softly, like she already knew he was about to shut her down. “I wanted to say thank you. For helping me out these few weeks. I couldn't have done it without you.”

Joel finally glanced up at that. Just a flicker.

Leela shifted in her puffy pants, adjusting Maya against her shoulder. The baby girl was bundled up tight, small fists curled into her mouth, watching him with that blank, childlike wonder in big eyes. It took every bit of strength he had to not fall for that, and just forget everything that happened.

Joel hung his head, nodding again, keeping his focus downward on the screw.

She was being friendly. Trying to meet him halfway. And he hated that this was what it had come to—that she felt like she had to say something, to extend some kind of olive branch, when all he’d done was build a wall between them. For no fucking reason.

He straightened up with a muffled grunt, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Nothin’ to thank me for. It was all you.”

She half-laughed, something wry and knowing. “I know that's not true.”

Joel glanced up, stiffening, but she wasn’t looking at him, just rubbing slow circles into Maya’s back, pressing a slow kiss to the top of her head, consoling herself.

He knew what she was doing. He wasn’t stupid.

She was trying to make things normal again. Like they hadn’t spent nights under the same roof. Like he hadn’t seen her fall apart. Like she wasn’t still here, right now, offering him something—a small, careful thing—and he was too much of a coward to take it.

So he didn’t.

Joel scratched the back of his neck with the screwdriver, rolling the tension out of his shoulders. “You oughta get inside,” he said instead. “It’s too cold for the kid.”

Leela’s expression flickered. Not hurt. Just resigned. He felt like he'd ripped the band-aid off a baby.

“Okay. Yes.” She slowly nodded but hesitated a step back. Then—too quietly, almost like an afterthought—“It’s nice to see you around, Joel.”

And with that, she started back down the road, holding Maya closer by her head, and Joel let out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding. That was better. Cleaner.

He grabbed his tools and turned back to his door, locking his jaw. He hadn’t meant to come off short, but it was better this way. Best to stay in his own lane. Best not to make something out of nothing. That’s what he told himself.

But later that night, when he was eating that damn delicious soup she’d left for him by his door—still warm, still considerate—he felt like a grade-A asshole.

From then on, it was Tommy who had taken over fixing the nursery, finishing what Joel had started. He figured that was for the best. It kept things clean. Tied up loose ends. He had no business stepping into that house anymore, no reason to.

And yet, his eyes always caught the details—the way the curtains in the nursery window shifted, the way light flickered between the slats, the way the wood he had sanded and painted was still unfinished, the way Tommy started bringing someone else along.

Mal.

Joel had seen him before, a younger guy with an afro that Tommy had taken under his wing. Handy with repairs, and good with his hands. Nothing special.

At first, Mal actually worked. Brought his toolbox, put up a few shelves, and nodded along to whatever Tommy said. Kept to himself. But then—things started changing. Mal started staying longer. Talking... to her. Right on the front stoop until the sun went down.

It was fine at first. Two steps between them. Then one. Then none at all. Soon, he was leaning close on the porch railing, shoulders nearly brushing hers, speaking in low, easy tones that Joel couldn’t quite make out from across the street. And then—laughter. Leela’s laughter. Soft, hesitant, but real.

More than Joel had ever gotten out of her. Not that he’d ever tried.

Tommy and Maria stopped coming around entirely. It was just Mal now. Every goddamn day. He’d stroll up, toolbox in hand, tap on the door, and then—nothing. No sounds of work being done. No hammering, no shifting furniture. Just conversation.

Joel told himself it didn’t matter. Repeated it like a prayer, like a lesson he should’ve learned by now. That whatever Leela did, whoever she let into her home, was none of his business. That was the whole point of leaving, wasn’t it? Cutting ties, walking away.

He didn’t care about the way Mal lingered on that porch, didn’t care about the way Leela had started looking at him—not quite wary, not quite inviting. Like she was still learning how to trust people but was willing to try. Didn’t care about the way Maya reached for Mal, the tiny fingers curling into his beard, the easy way Mal let her.

And yet, he always saw it.

The way Mal leaned just a little closer, the way Leela’s shoulders, once so tight and drawn, started to loosen. The way her fingers twisted in the fabric of her sleeves when she spoke to him, soft and hesitant, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to enjoy the conversation.

Joel hated how much he noticed. It was worse when he overheard them.

He'd been out all damn day. Sun up to sundown, rifle slung over his shoulder, dealing with raiders, clickers, and everything in between. The kind of day that made his bones ache, that made his back scream when he so much as breathed wrong. The kind of day where all he wanted was to go home, put his feet up, and maybe—just maybe—close his eyes for longer than ten damn minutes.

But no. Because just as he was rounding the corner to his place, the world ready to lay even more shit on him, he heard them.

“You mean to tell me no one's ever spun you around before?” Mal was saying.

Joel's step faltered. He should’ve kept walking. Should’ve ignored it. But of course not. He adjusted his grip on the sack slung over his shoulder, slowing his pace, letting their voices drift through the cold evening air.

Leela snorted, light and dismissive. “Like dancing?”

“Exactly like,” Mal confirmed, smooth as you please. “Having a little fun, letting go, feeling the music. Bet you don’t do much of that.”

Joel’s fingers curled around the strap of his bag, grip tightening.

“There are more pressing matters than romance,” Leela muttered, but she was laughing.

Joel didn’t like that one bit. He didn’t like the way she said it. Playful. Entertained. That was the first thing that rubbed Joel the wrong way. The second was the way the kid kept talking.

“Well, I bet Maya’s never even seen her mama all dolled up before, huh? Imagine that, baby girl,” Mal cooed, and Maya's sweet crool followed like a melody.

Fuck this.

Joel didn’t hear Leela’s response, didn’t hear whatever she said next, because he was already moving—boots heavy, hands fisted, the strap of his bag biting into his palm. He was about to lay one on this bitch.

The frozen dirt beneath his boots crunched as he made his way there, shoulders squared, hackles raised, barely restraining the urge to grab that kid by the collar and shake some goddamn sense into him.

Because who the hell did this punk think he was?

Talking like that, acting like Leela was some blushing girl to be sweet-talked. Like she hadn’t spent the last few weeks barely holding herself together. Like she hadn’t bled for that kid in her arms. Like Joel hadn’t been the one who—

He stopped himself there. Tamped it down. Shoved it deep into the pit of his stomach where all the other shit lived.

Instead, he turned away, kept his head down and walked straight home, fists tight around anything. By the time he kicked the door shut behind him, his jaw ached from how hard he’d been clenching it. Fucking Mal.

Joel dumped the sack of supplies on the table and went straight for the bottle. Pulled the cork out with his teeth, and poured himself a glass with a hand that was damn near steady.

He took a sip. Let it burn. Let it settle. Then he muttered, “Goddamn kid.”

He wasn’t mad. Not really. Because why should he be?

She liked him. Sure, he wanted her to be happy. If that happened, he'd finally get a good night's sleep. And yet, it wouldn't mean a fucking thing to him if Mal was the reason. One day, when he's going to see her and Mal inside her home, silver rings glinting off their hands, little Maya nestled between them, the picture of a perfect family...

Joel knocked back the rest of the whiskey and swallowed hard. Good. That was good. Good for her. Good for the baby. She didn't need him. Maya wouldn't need him. He'd butt out and live alone, in peace.

He set the glass down a little harder than he meant to. Stared at it. Then, just to be sure, he muttered it out loud.

“Ain't my problem.”

But the facts remained.

She still wasn’t eating much or sleeping well. The dark circles under her eyes hadn’t faded. She still rubbed at her temples when she thought no one was looking, still blinked a little too long, like she was fighting off exhaustion every second of the day. Food was out of compulsion, not hunger, for the sake of staying healthy for Maya.

And then, one night, he saw her asleep on the porch swing. Curled in on herself, arms tucked tight, shivering against the cold, exhaustion dragging her under where she sat.

It took everything in him not to walk over and wake her. To shake her by the shoulder, drag her inside, make sure she was warm. It took everything in him not to care.

Because this wasn’t his anymore. He had no claim over them.

Didn’t change the fact that every time he saw Mal leaning against that railing, looking like he belonged there, like he’d always belonged there—that knot in his chest twisted tighter.

And he hated that, too.

X

Joel had truly been looking forward to dinner. It was the same thing every week. He’d go over to Tommy's, have a decent meal, shoot the shit with his brother, and let Ellie fill in the gaps of conversation. It was comfortable. Familiar. Nice. A welcome change from the silence of his own home, from days spent running the same damn circuit—patrol, repairs, the bar, then back to a house that wasn’t a home, not really.

But tonight, something was off. Joel could feel it from the moment he sat down.

Maybe it was the way Maria and Ellie kept glancing at him like they were waiting for something. Or maybe it was just Tommy—sitting across from him, chewing through a mouthful of steak, his expression too nonchalant like he had something up his sleeve.

Joel didn’t think much of it at first. He focused on his food, carving through the meat, grounding himself in the scrape of his fork against the plate.

Then Tommy opened his big hole of a mouth.

“Mal’s been spending a lot of time over at Leela’s place.”

Joel’s hand tensed around his knife. And just like that, his appetite was gone. He kept his face neutral and didn’t look up. Just kept chewing, lagging and deliberate motions, like he hadn’t heard a damn thing.

Tommy, either oblivious or just plain cruel, kept going. “Helpin’ out with the nursery. Putting some time in with the baby girl.” He ripped a piece of bread in half, completely unaware of the way Joel’s grip had turned his fork into a weapon. “Good guy. He and Leela get along well. It's nice to see.”

Joel exhaled slowly through his nose. He focused on his plate. Flattened a piece of potato with the back of his fork. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t his problem. That was the whole goddamn point, wasn’t it?

He’d helped Leela out. Gave her time. Took care of her baby. That was it. She was somebody else’s problem now. And yet, the idea of some guy stepping into his place, rocking Maya to sleep, working on the nursery, fixing things, being there—his mouth flattened into a hard line. It stung.

No. It wasn’t his place to care. He'd told himself so many times, it felt like one of those daily affirmations bullshit. Thou shall not think of thy neighbour's handyman and his fuckeries.

Though, still, before he could stop himself, the words were already out of his mouth. “Nursery ain’t even done yet.”

The second it left him, he regretted it. A beat of silence.

Then, slowly, too slowly, Joel looked up—and immediately hated what he saw. Maria and Ellie were smirking. That stupid, all-too-knowing, ready-to-annoy-the-shit-out-of-him-smirk. He had the greatest urge to leave the room.

Maria lifted an eyebrow. “And how exactly would you know that, Joel?”

Joel pursed his lips casually, setting his fork down with a little too much care. “They live right across the damn street. Hard to miss.”

Ellie leaned forward, propping her chin on her fist. “Right. And how much time do you spend looking across the damn street?”

He massaged the bridge of his nose. “Don’t start, Ellie.”

Tommy tilted his head, giving him a look that made Joel want to knock his damn teeth out. “You’ve been actin’ real funny ever since you left that house, y’know.”

“Ain’t nothin’ to act on,” Joel muttered, shifting in his seat. “I helped her out. End of story. Moving on.”

Tommy wasn't letting go, damn him. “Uh-huh. Then why you sittin’ here lookin’ like you just bit into a bad lemon the second her name came up?”

Joel’s jaw ticked.

“Yeah,” Ellie added, grinning. “Why’s your face doing that thing?”

Joel frowned. “What thing?”

She pointed with her fork to the furrows above his eyebrows. “The thing where you pretend you don’t care, but your forehead says otherwise.”

Maria hid a knowing smile behind her glass while Joel rubbed at his face consciously, glaring over at Ellie. “You could just go over there, you know.”

Joel let out a short, humourless chuckle. “Oh, c'mon. For what?”

“Dinner,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Just a meal with friends. Tommy, me, you, Ellie—Leela and Maya. Nothing big.”

Joel stared down at his plate. His food had gone cold.

“We don’t need to be doin’ all that,” he muttered, shaking his head. Getting familiar and cosy. It'd only invite more trouble.

Maria ignored him. “She’s got that nice, big dining room. A sweet bar cart. French windows. Good view of the lawn. It’d be like a little party.”

Joel didn’t respond.

“C'mon, man,” Tommy pressed. “What’s stopping you?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? Joel wasn’t sure he had an answer. Or maybe he did—and just didn’t want to say it.

Because the truth was, he had no business going back. He’d done what he came to do. He’d helped. That was it.

But then there was Maya—her featherlight body in his arms, the way she’d reached for his shirt in her sleep. There was Leela—standing in the doorway that last morning, silent, watching him go. There was the stillness in his own house, the way he’d catch himself in the middle of the night, listening for a cry that never came. What the hell was wrong with him?

Instead, he just stabbed his fork into his potato and muttered, “Pass.”

Maria and Ellie exchanged another conspiratorial glance. And Joel had the distinct feeling this wasn’t over.

Once dinner had progressed into a chore, Ellie and Joel, ever the gentleman, helped Tommy dry the dishes. Well—Joel did. Ellie, on the other hand, was just sitting on the counter, swinging her legs and cracking jokes about Tommy’s new manbun. The kitchen was warm, the soft clatter of dishes filling the space and laughter, the steak dinner still settling in Joel’s stomach.

“You’re really doing the whole ponytail thing now, huh?”

Tommy rolled his eyes, flicking on the tap. “Jesus, you sound like Joel.”

“Hey, you take that back! I am way cooler than Joel,” Ellie corrected. “And I'm a thousand times funnier. Pun-nier.”

“Debatable,” Joel muttered.

“Did Maria do this to you?” she asked, flicking a sudsy fork in Joel’s direction. “Blink twice if you need help. I've got emergency scissors.”

Tommy snorted, stacking the last plate in the cabinet. “It’s practical. And I'm starting to like it.”

Ellie tilted her head, unimpressed. “It's lazy. Tragic.”

Joel smirked but said nothing, wiping down a plate before handing it over. Tommy shot him a glare like he was expecting some backup, but Joel just shrugged. Not his fight.

Maria walked in from behind them, and Joel noticed that infuriating look on her face. Oh, nothing good would come out of this. She set a small box on the counter with a dull thud, right beside Joel. He barely glanced at it before she plopped another paper box on top—leftovers from tonight. Steak and potatoes just for a special someone.

“Could you pass this on to Leela on your way back?” she said casually, drying her hands. “It's one dose a day, each. And one scoop in cold water.”

Joel looked down, his hands bracing against the counter. Vitamins. Protein powder. Of course.

Maria tapped the food box. “And dinner.”

Joel eyed them both, then her. The way she said it, like it was no big deal. Like she hadn’t just put him in a position he couldn’t easily wiggle out of.

He sighed, already seeing where this was going. He set down the dish towel, rubbing the back of his neck. “Tommy can pass it to her tomorrow.”

Maria simply raised an eyebrow. “Meat’s gonna go bad.”

Joel narrowed his eyes. “Oh, so this is how you’re gonna play it?” He glanced at Tommy, then Ellie, both of whom were very pointedly looking elsewhere. “Really?”

Ellie grinned. “It’s a neighbourly thing to do, Joel. Don't you call yourself a gentleman?”

“I’m with her on that one,” Tommy added, crossing his arms.

Joel let out a slow, irritated breath. Family? No, just a bunch of annoying, traitorous little shits.

Maria only smiled, sliding the box closer to him. “Wouldn’t want her going without. She's already skin and bones. And you know... you live right across the damn street.”

Ellie burst out laughing, raising her fist to Maria, who bumped with her own knowing smile. “Respect.”

Joel clenched his jaw. She'd got him right where she wanted. Because now, if he didn’t take the stupid thing, he’d look like an asshole. And Maria knew that. She was being fucking shameless about it.

His gaze flickered down to the box. Then, before he could stop himself and leave them standing, an image surfaced—Leela, sitting on that damn porch swing, curled up against the cold. Maya’s tiny fingers tugging at her collar, red-cheeked, catching swirling snow in her dark curls.

Joel closed his eyes briefly. He couldn't shake it off. And he admitted it to himself, despite all his grievances against this, he missed them. He missed Leela's soft footsteps in the nursery past midnight, he missed Maya entirely. He missed the sense of normalcy once the blood and gore of patrol ended, to head to a warm home and lay down, exhausted, knowing he hadn't had a drink to fall asleep.

Then, wordlessly, he grabbed the boxes off the counter.

Ellie elbowed Tommy in the ribs, giggling. “See? Look at him. Good ol’ Joel, real man of the people.”

Joel shot her a warning look while heading over to grab his jacket, the delivery under his arm. “Don’t push it, kid.” Then pointed a threatening finger at Tommy as he yanked the front door open. “Can't believe we're related.”

Tommy only puckered his lips at him, miming a kiss. “Mensch Miller.”

X

The house across the street was unlocked again.

Joel stood at the threshold, jaw clenched, boots planted firm against the porch floorboards. The door was cracked open, swaying slightly from the evening breeze, the light from inside spilling out onto the steps. Did she even care about safety? It should’ve been locked. It should’ve been bolted shut, curtains drawn, an armoury stacked by the doorway. But Leela still acted like the world wasn’t what it was. Like Jackson was different.

It had been a whole two months since Leela brought Maya into this world, a month of struggling, of barely eating, barely sleeping, barely breathing. And now she had the nerve to leave her door wide open like she was inviting trouble? Like Jackson was some safe little haven where nothing bad could ever happen? A dangerous thing, that kind of trust. He’d seen what happened to people who had it.

His jaw ticked. He took the porch steps two at a time and pushed the door open without knocking.

Inside, the air was warm, thick with the scent of woodsmoke and something faintly sweet—baby powder, maybe, or that lavender soap Maria kept handing out. The fire crackled low in the hearth, throwing restless shadows across the room, licking at the edges of the high-backed armchair and the mathematics-riddled books and papers neatly stacked up in scatters.

And there she was, standing in front of it. Leela was running a brush through her hair, violently. Dragging it down, tangling it further, hissing under her breath when it snagged. Frustrated, impatient. Needed a haircut.

The same damn nightgown again. White, sleeveless, falling in soft folds just past her knees. But this time, his eyes caught the details—the way a single pearl button at her collar had been left open carelessly, the way the thin cotton made the dark silhouette of her body visible beneath, and the odd little cherries sewn sparsely into the fabric. Small, stitched by hand.

He had no idea why all that stood out to him. It just did. And boy, did it leave nothing to the imagination.

Leela stilled, catching sight of him in the doorway. The brush hung mid-stroke in her hand.

“Oh,” she said, like he hadn’t just barged into her house uninvited. “Hello.”

Her eyes and voice were warm. Soft, as if this was nothing out of the ordinary, as if she wasn’t standing there in nothing but a slip of a dress while the light from the hearth turned her edges golden.

Joel forced his gaze away. His eyes flicked over the living room instead, to the couch against the far wall—his couch, as much as he hated to admit it. The blankets were still there, folded neatly, stacked with the pillows like she’d been expecting him to come back. His grip tightened around the boxes in his hands.

“I—” He cleared his throat, stepping forward, extending the boxes toward her. “Maria sent you some stuff.”

Leela blinked again before setting the hairbrush down, padding toward him on bare feet. She took the boxes gently, fingers barely brushing his. “Thank you, Joel,” she murmured, flashing a little smile.

“Just vitamins, protein powder,” he played off.

She pried the lid off the larger box and inhaled deeply. He caught the way her nose twitched, her fingers tightening just a fraction around the edges.

“Her famous steak dinner,” he offered her.

And then, like clockwork, her stomach betrayed her, the low grumble cutting through the quiet between them. She stiffened, laughing, breathless and sheepish.

“Sorry.”

“You should eat—”

A sharp cry cut through the air, calling for her. Both their heads swung toward the staircase.

Leela sighed first, setting the boxes away. “Napkin,” she murmured, as if reciting from a schedule. “Please help yourself to anything. I’ll be right back.”

But Joel stepped forward, one arm extended, the box acting as a barrier between her and the stairs. He despised the unfamiliarity.

“Eat,” he said, firm.

She hesitated. Her gaze flickered between him and the staircase, like she was weighing her options, debating whether to argue or just go along with it.

Another cry echoed from upstairs—short, needy. Joel could tell. It wasn’t hunger, it wasn’t pain. Little Maya was lonely already.

“I got this,” he assured.

Leela chewed her lip. “But—”

“I know the drill.” He jerked his chin toward the kitchen. “Just eat.”

A long moment passed, heavy with hesitation. Then, finally, she relented, her shoulders sagging as she breathed in surrender. She took the box from him.

“I’ll grab a fork, I guess,” she muttered, turning toward the kitchen.

Joel smothered a grin while watching her go, and took the stairs two at a time, powerless to his anticipation. It had been two weeks since he held the baby girl. He'd missed the shit out of her, not that he would admit that to anybody. Of course, he wasn't about to pass up this chance for anything.

From the landing, the nursery's door cracked open, light from the hallway bleeding into the dim room. Joel frowned as he leaned in to inspect.

The first thing he noticed was that the crib had moved. His boots made no sound over the wooden floor as he stepped inside, scanning the space. The wooden shelves were up, already home to Maya's folded clothes, towels and napkins. The light installation dangled halfway, unfixed. No one had even begun work on painting the walls. No armchair. No rug.

This Mal guy was a complete jackass. Maya's nursery was a mess.

“Good with his hands, my ass,” Joel muttered. “What a fuckin' tool.”

Joel angrily followed the hallway light, stepping through the open doorway into the furthest bedroom, a room bigger than any he’d ever seen in Jackson. In Texas. In this country.

Massive was an understatement. This was the kind of bedroom you’d see in a damn commercial—the kind of thing he would’ve scoffed at, once upon a time. The bed alone was ridiculous. Olympic-sized, sunken into a floor for itself, welling with plush, overstuffed pillows and thick sheets, barely disturbed. A sliding-door closet stood at the far end, pristine, untouched. A plasma-screen TV mounted on the opposite wall, thick with dust.

Joel’s lips pressed into a thin line. There was something unnatural about it. The way it felt more like an untouched display than her bedroom.

Maya’s cries pulled him from his thoughts. Joel crossed the room, approaching the crib—the one he’d worked on. All pink and polished for the spoiled little girl.

The moment she saw him, her cries hitched. Big, teary brown eyes blinked up at him, wide and glistening, like she was struggling to focus. She sniffled, tiny fists flexing against the mattress, mouth wobbling around her jutting tongue, as if trying to place him.

Joel couldn't resist a grin, brushing a coarse knuckle against her soft cheek.

“Hi, baby girl.” Then leaned closer to whisper, “Traitor.”

Maya sniffled, blinking again, then reached for him—small fingers curling, grasping blindly before finding his much larger one, tugging it toward her mouth. She gummed at his gnarled knuckles with a fussy little noise, her brows furrowing in concentration.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “That ain't fair. That's your apology?”

Maya made another small whimper of a sound. And a real smile. A big, toothless, gummy grin, full of warmth and recognition. Something nearly uncoiled at his ribs.

He pulled a so-so face. “Hm, I'll bite.”

It was muscle memory, really. The way his hands moved—effortless, practised. He'd done it more than fifty times in two weeks. He made quick work of the napkin, wiping her clean, then slid his hands beneath her arms, lifting her up in one smooth motion.

He grunted as he did, “C'mere, sweetheart. You beautiful, beautiful girl. Did you miss me, huh?”

She squealed, legs kicking excitedly as he cradled her against his chest, supporting her head the way he always did. And just like that, he eased into the old rhythm without thinking. That familiar weight against him, that warmth—gentle, swaying, murmuring under his breath. It was easy. Too easy. Like breathing. Like falling asleep.

She nestled into his shoulder, tiny fist pressing against his neck, seeking his warmth. She’d gotten bigger. Not by much, but enough. Still delicate, still small—but stronger now. More aware. Smart, like her mother.

"Yeah, you missed me," he murmured when she nuzzled against his neck.

And then—pure, infallible instinct—he dipped his nose into her hair and breathed her in deep. Soft linen and old cotton, warm and faint.

Sarah used to smell like this once. For just a little while. That same invisible claw tore at his memories. Joel closed his eyes, just for a second. He remembered how, when she outgrew it, he'd missed it terribly. How he’d sometimes let her sleep curled up in his arms all night long, his back against the headboard, just to hold onto that smell. Just to keep that small, fleeting moment of innocence before the world could take it away.

That nostalgia settled deep in his ribs, quiet and whole. This seemed like the only place in the world where suffering didn’t exist. Like his hands weren’t stained with all the things he’d done, all the lives he’d taken.

Because here, right now, with Maya, he wasn’t the man who had lost and lost and lost again. He wasn’t the man who’d left behind nothing but bodies and broken promises. No, she didn’t know any of that. She didn’t care.

She only knew his warmth. She knew the steady beat of his heart, the scratch of his beard against her soft skin, and the way he said her name. She only knew him as someone safe. And fuck, he wasn’t, he wasn’t, but—

God help him, he wanted to be.

Maya sighed, a tiny, content sound, pressing closer. And Joel—he let himself believe, just for a moment, that he was clean.

A soft gasp behind him made him turn to reality and toward the door. “Oh, Maya.”

Joel turned to find Leela standing in the doorway, hand to her mouth, eyes wide in amusement. She had changed—finally—into one of those oversized sweaters he’d seen her wear on colder nights, sleeves swallowing her hands. But she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at his chest.

Joel frowned. “What?”

Leela bit her lip, trying—failing—to smother a smile. She motioned vaguely toward him. Joel tracked her finger and glanced to the side. And felt it. Hot, damp.

Damned baby spit-up.

Maya’s little betrayal soaked through the fabric of his shirt, spreading down from his collar and shoulder to his chest in an uneven, milky stain. She smacked her lips contentedly against his collarbone, completely unaware of the mess she’d just made.

He sighed, shifting her to the other arm. He levelled her with a playful glare. “You gonna warn me next time you ruin my shirt, darlin'?”

Maya only gurgled in response, a soft, pleased little sound.

And then, following her daughter—Leela laughed.

Not the quiet, polite kind that he'd managed out of her once. Not the forced kind, either. A real laugh. Breathless, unexpected, warm. Like it had slipped out before she could stop it.

Joel felt it like a slow-moving punch to the gut. He didn’t hear that sound often. Hell, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever heard it before on his account. He'd finally done it.

It changed something about her, softening her face in a way that caught him off guard. Her eyes creased at the corners, the tightness in her shoulders eased, the exhaustion in her expression smoothed over—just for a moment.

It did something strange to him. He didn’t have the time to name it. So he just exhaled sharply, muttering a curse under his breath as he adjusted Maya over to the other arm, rubbing a hand over his damp shirt.

“Yeah, real funny. Your girl just aired her paunch all over me,” he grumbled.

Leela tried to sober up, apologising, but another chuckle slipped out in between, and Joel caught the way she bit her lip, fighting to suppress it.

She was enjoying this. And he was in big fucking trouble.

"Don't move. I'll get you a spare shirt," she said, laughing, before walking to the adjacent closet doors.

Joel didn’t even get the chance to protest before Leela slid one side of the closet doors open, revealing—sweet Jesus.

His eyes landed on the neat rows of men’s clothing hanging inside. Not just a few misplaced items, not something left behind by chance. An entire collection.

Button-downs, slacks, henleys—clothes meant for daily wear. Added into the mix, were pressed suits, the kind that cost more than a month’s worth of supplies, the kind men used to wear to skyscrapers and boardrooms, back when the world was still upright. And golf shirts. For fuck’s sake, golf shirts.

Joel’s jaw hinged back up. Golf was a rich man’s game. He’d worked jobs near country clubs in his past life, and seen the kind of people who played. Men with money. Her father, perhaps.

Leela had definitely grown up rich. And looking at this—this untouched wealth, just sitting here, long past its time—it became clear. She probably still was.

Joel’s grip on Maya shifted slightly, the warmth of the baby pressing into his chest the only real thing anchoring him as his eyes dragged over the closet once more.

For all that Leela lived like a ghost, for all that she barely let anyone near her, this place still held echoes of what she came from. A past life that didn’t match the woman he’d seen standing at her front door, exhausted and hollow-eyed, desperate for her baby to stop crying.

Leela flipped through the hangers without hesitation, fingers brushing past labels he recognized—Armani, Burberry, Hollister. Eventually, she pulled out a green pullover. Soft, fine material. A little small for him, but it’d do.

She turned, offering it wordlessly.

Joel didn’t move to take it right away.

He was still staring at the closet. Not because he gave a damn about how much a fucking sweater cost, or whether she had a trust fund hidden away somewhere, but because it told him something. Something he hadn’t really thought about before.

Leela had come from comfort. Stability. A world where things were taken care of. And yet she’d buried herself in this big, empty house, alone, fighting tooth and nail to survive—like everyone else. And she never asked for help.

Leela cleared her throat. “It should fit. My father was a tall man.”

Joel managed a sigh, shifting Maya in his arms. He took the pullover with one hand, already halfway through plucking open the buttons of his flannel.

While he worked, Leela stepped closer, ready to take Maya. She was quick about it, but Joel caught the way her fingers lingered, just for a second, as she scooped the baby up from his arms. Not on Maya.

On him.

Joel really tried to push it out of his head, write it off as an illusion, already plucking open the buttons of his shirt. His fingers brushed the fabric, and he paused when he caught the tag inside. Ralph Lauren, for fuck's sake.

Leela noticed with a small smile. “I didn’t take you for a man with fancy taste,” she mused.

Joel let out a dry snort. “Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it.”

He pulled off his flannel, the sleeves catching briefly on his wrists before he tossed it aside. The room wasn’t cold, but the air bit at his skin anyway. The scars felt it first—every healed cut, every old wound stretched over knotted muscle, each one a reminder of what his body had been through.

“Oh, man,” he couldn't help but grunt, stretching his arms.

He worked the pullover over his head in one smooth motion, the fabric soft, snug across his shoulders. Felt like something he would’ve bought for Sarah back in the day, something she’d pull from a Macy’s rack, nodding in approval before insisting, “Dad, just try it on.”

It fit better than he expected, but Joel barely registered that. His body had begun to ache. Not in one place—everywhere. It was late at night, it was cold, he missed his daily dose of whiskey, and he needed sleep for tomorrow.

The exhaustion sat in his bones now, permanent and familiar. His bad knee throbbed, aggravated from the cold, from the weight he put on it patrolling for hours at a time. His back had never been the same after that one fall, a long time ago. Some mornings, he woke up and could barely stand straight, feeling every single one of his years sink into him.

And yet, his body still held. Still worked. It wasn’t much to look at anymore. Not that it ever had been.

He had no delusions about himself—he wasn’t built for admiration. Never had been. Picking up girls and fooling around; that was Tommy's thing. He wasn’t the kind of man people looked at twice, not in the way that mattered. His body told a story, but not the sort anyone wanted to read or had a happy ending,

His hands were ruined things, thick with callouses from years of exertion, from gripping rifle stocks, from skinning game, from chopping wood in the dead of winter. His knuckles were perpetually split, healing just enough before the next fight, the next job, the next reason to curl his fists. Scars mapped his skin, uneven and jagged, old bullet wounds and knife cuts, hard edges, marks of a life spent fighting for something—for anything.

He wasn’t young anymore. He wasn’t some smooth-talking son of a bitch with a face that turned heads. He was always angry at something, thinking about something, readying his next step, even if it was a complete waste of his time.

But he was still formidable. He could protect. He could endure the rough-hewn demands of survival, even now. He could fight like hell. That had to count for something.

But Leela—she wasn’t staring, exactly. Wasn’t not staring, either. It was subtle. Barely there. A flicker of something implicit, something fleeting, the way her gaze traced along his arms, his shoulders, abdomen, the sharp cut of his collarbone before snapping away. As if she hadn’t meant to look, and she’d caught herself a second too late.

Joel had been around long enough to recognize when a woman was checking him out. And hell—he wasn’t gonna lie to himself. It made him feel good. Fucking fantastic, really. Like he could wake up tomorrow feeling twenty years younger. Like he could leap right out of bed and his back wouldn’t stiffen before noon. Like he still had something left in him worth looking at.

He wasn’t an idiot, though. He wasn't going to let it go to his head.

Leela adjusted Maya in her arms, moving her weight as if giving herself something to do, something to focus on that wasn’t him.

And Joel—he pretended not to notice. Didn’t say a damn word about it. Didn’t shift under her gaze, didn’t smirk at her, didn’t let her see that she’d gotten under his skin in a way he hadn’t expected.

Just muttered a quiet, “Thanks,” and left it at that.

Leela hummed in response, turning away to lay Maya down, who was already dozing her little head off, into the crib with practised care. Then, just as easily, she pivoted back to her bedside dresser, fingers moving over a stack of neatly folded quadrille paper.

“Can you pass something to Tommy for me?” she asked, voice soft, controlled. “It’s really important he gets this as soon as possible.”

Joel might not have paid it much mind, might’ve brushed it off as just another errand he wasn’t keen on running—but then he saw it. The way her posture stiffened, the way her hands smoothed over the edges of the papers like they were something fragile, something vital. But whatever this was—it mattered.

She flipped through the pages, and for the first time since he’d met her, he saw something rare. Excitement. A flicker of life.

"It’s a wonderful breakthrough, Joel," she said, and there was a rare enough lightness in her voice, bordering on unguarded enthusiasm.

Joel just blinked. Leela wasn’t the type to get excited. Or maybe he's just never seen it in her before.

"So, I’ve been working on…" then she went into something technical for his dense mind, talking fast in words that blurred together. It all went miles over his head. Circuits, electrical theory, conduction points—half of it might as well have been a foreign language.

Joel just stared when she finished with a deep breath.

Leela instantly caught the look and pursed her lips. "Okay, um. Let me put it this way."

She shifted toward him, gesturing as she spoke, putting it into Layman's terms. "You know how the dam stops producing enough energy in winter? When the river freezes over?"

Joel gave a slow nod.

"So we rely on fuel, but fuel’s very limited. We've got the town expanding, and people coming in. So our batteries drain. If we had an alternative energy source, something reliable—" She held up the paper, tapping a rough sketch. "And that’s where this comes in."

Her hands moved as she spoke, cutting through the air with sharp, purposeful gestures. Not just passion, not just expertise. Conviction.

"Lightning is erratic, but it’s raw power. Joules of energy. Think about it. If we can direct a strike into a controlled medium—like a graphene capacitor—we can store it."

Joel narrowed his eyes, the concept clicking into his lagging brain. "So what, you think you can catch a goddamn thunderstorm and turn it into a battery?"

Leela wheezed a quiet laugh. "More or less."

He thought about it. "Seems like a hell of a thing to gamble on."

"It’s not a gamble. It’s math. Physics. It will work, Joel, I know it."

Joel didn’t argue. He didn’t understand it, not really, but he’d seen Leela work before. He trusted her genius. The nights she couldn't sleep—he’d sometimes blink awake to the sound of chalk scraping against a blackboard, catching sight of her standing there in the dim glow of the bulb, mapping something out with surgical precision. Or hunched over a notebook, scribbling feverishly, lost in calculations that only made sense to her.

It wasn’t just her passion—it was her outlet. A relief. A tether to something greater than herself, something she could control before she lost herself completely in the demands of motherhood. And if this was what she was holding onto, then perhaps it was more than just an idea.

She tucked the paper back into the stack, levelling him with a quiet look. "I also have a prototype," she said simply.

Joel raised a brow.

Leela nodded toward the hallway. "It’s in the basement if you want to see."

Joel wasn’t big on machines. Or gear. The finer technical details weren’t for him. But—he glanced at her, at the way she stood, weight shifting from foot to foot, something unreadable behind her eyes.

She wasn’t pushing him. She was waiting.

After a beat, he sighed, tilting his head toward the door. "Lead the way, ma'am."

X

The stairs were steep, the kind that creaked under their weight, but Joel kept a firm hold on Leela’s elbow, steadying her as they made their way down. She was still weak. Too breakable. As far as his knowledge went, she should've gotten better by now. And how the hell was she supposed to do that when she barely ate without cringing?

Joel had half a mind to tell her that, to point out how unsteady she was, how she winced when she put too much pressure on her feet—but she’d just brush him off with a shaky smile. So instead, he let out a quiet breath through his nose and adjusted his grip, keeping her close until they reached the bottom.

"There you go. Watch that last step," he guided as gently as he could.

She glanced up at him from the fringes of a smile, letting his hands go. "Thank you."

He expected damp walls, waterlogged corners, mould creeping up the corners, and a basement that smelled like rot and rust. As what he had been always used to when he went scouring towns nearby for supplies. What he got instead stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Well, I’ll be damned," he blew out.

It was a workshop. A big-ass one. Tools lined up on the magnetic walls, neatly arranged, half-finished projects sitting on a worktable, schematics pinned up in careful rows. More of Leela's notes and markers, taped-up designs. Funny how there was life only around all this machinery. Off to the side, an old wine cellar, the glass cases still intact, though the bottles inside were coated in dust.

And then—the cars.

Joel let out a low whistle. Two of them. Just sitting there like some abandoned luxury showroom. One was a Dodge Aspen, a classic in its own right. All violet and under repair. But the other...—his eyes caught the silver emblem glinting under the dim basement light. A prancing horse on the red steel.

"Come on," he muttered in disbelief, stepping forward, barely resisting the urge to run his hand over the hood. "Is that a… Maranello?"

Leela took a deep breath, still recovering from the stairs. "Yes. Custom-made and still brand-new. Not sure if there's any left out there anymore."

"Holy shit." His fingers flexed at his sides. He didn’t want to seem desperate, but fuck, when was the last time he’d seen something like this? Much less, been this close?

"Can I, uh…" He gestured indistinctly at the car.

Leela flashed him a small grin. "Knock yourself out. The door's unlocked."

He didn’t need to be told twice. Joel reached out, fingers brushing over cool, crimson steel before yanking the door open. The new car smell hit him right in the face—leather, polish, something untouched by time. His chest tensed at the familiarity of it.

He slid into the driver’s seat, running his hands over the wheel, the stitching around the stick shift, and the soft beige leather of the custom interior. And just for a second—he let himself imagine it. Top down. Gliding down the I-10, no speed limits, no patrols, just him and the open road, wind in his hair, sun on his face, Raybans on. That dream all felt like a lifetime ago.

A soft knock on the passenger side window startled him back to reality.

Leela’s face appeared through the glass, her lips quirked in amusement. "Should I leave you two alone?"

Joel huffed, turning slightly to mask the grin tugging at his mouth. She opened the door and drudged her way inside, moving slowly. The descent had taken more out of her than she was willing to admit.

When she shut the door, he immediately rolled down his window, straining his ears toward the stairs. The one time he wished his hearing wouldn't betray him. Had he locked the door upstairs? Could he hear Maya if she cried? What if he couldn’t? How come Leela didn't seem to think about this? God, this girl really had no clue.

Her voice broke into his thoughts. "I wish I knew how to drive it." She ran her hand absentmindedly over the dashboard, voice softer now, almost wistful. "I believe the last great invention of man was the automobile."

"You said it," he mumbled. "A damn beaut."

Joel glanced at her and did a little mental math. She must’ve been nine, maybe ten, when the outbreak hit. No middle school. No high school. No road trips, no late-night drives with her friends, music blasting. No first kiss. Just one world ending, and another one starting—a crueller one.

Leela exhaled, long and slow, sinking deeper into the leather seat like she could melt into it. Her fingers drummed idly on the handlebars, tracing invisible patterns, slipping into an old rhythm—one she didn’t even seem aware of.

Then, soft as a whisper, she started humming.

It was unhurried, quiet, like something she’d sung to herself a thousand times before. But it was enough to make Joel pause, something about the tune pulling at him. A half-buried memory, something from before. He knew that song. Hadn’t heard it in years, but it was still there, lodged somewhere deep in the creases of his mind.

"That’s—" He frowned, tilting his head, listening closer. "That Patsy Cline?"

Leela glanced up, surprise flickering across her face before something warmer took its place. "Walkin’ After Midnight. Yeah."

Joel hid a grin. "That is way before your time."

"So?" She smirked, tipping her head back against the seat, fingers still tapping, moving. "I had old parents. Rubbed off on me."

A layer beneath her words made Joel tread carefully. He, of all people, knew how age could sit heavy on a person, how some things weren’t worth prying open.

"Can’t have been that old," he muttered, though he wasn’t sure why he said it.

"My mom was seventy-eight when she passed. Dad, eighty-four."

Joel blinked. "W-o-w." The syllables came out slowly, one after the other, before he could stop himself.

Leela let out a quiet laugh, but it didn’t reach her eyes this time. She glanced down, her fingers still moving, trailing over the leather, the stitching, following some old path only she could see.

"I miss them every day," she said, voice softer now, more distant. "I’m grateful they singled me out of those photographs. Brought me here." She gestured vaguely to the house above her, her home, before exhaling, like she was letting something go. "I just hope I’m doing them proud."

Joel sensed that change, and he realized: too much sharing. It had to go both ways. And he was never going to be ready for that. So he did what he did best, avoided and threw her off the scent.

"Man," he said abruptly, with a cluck of his tongue, "if I had the keys and some fuel, I’d ride the hell outta this baby." The words came out before he could stop them. "And die a happy old man."

Leela laughed. A loud laugh, sounding much like her daughter just then, deep in her chest, like she hadn't done it in a long time.

"It’s got fuel," she said, still grinning. "You can still ride it."

"Just sitting here like it's nothing." He shook his head, a small laugh rolling out. "Christ. This is fantastic."

He glanced down at the stick shift, thumb absently tracing the edge of the gear knob, but something else caught his eye.

Her nightgown. Hitched up, ruffled around the tops of her thighs, loose fabric pooling where she sat. Bare skin. Soft, smooth, taut over lean bone—too much of it. The way she shifted, unthinking, rubbing one knee over the other, restless. He felt a rock dislodge in his throat.

Fuck. For all that he could be—a guardian, a protector—he had to be a man.

His fingers curled against his palm, an old instinct, something long-trained. Look away, don’t think about it. He turned back to the wheel, forcing his eyes forward. Dashboard. Windshield. Glove compartment. The thin layer of dust coating the steering column. Anything but the way one more inch of movement would have left too much for his mind to comprehend.

But the problem was—she hadn’t bothered to fix it. She didn’t seem to notice, or if she did, she didn’t care. So why should he?

He swallowed, jaw flexing tight. Because that was the kind of man he was. Greying, frustrated, scarce on love.

His fingers twitched, itching for something to do, something to grab. Instead, he moved without thinking, across the partition—one finger. Just a light tug, barely a breath of a touch, dragging the hem of her gown down, covering her knees. A simple thing. A quiet thing. A mistake.

Her whole body jerked, a sharp intake of breath—like she’d been touched by fire. Really, Joel felt it more than he saw it. The way her muscles tensed, a shudder raced, the quick clutch of her fingers as she held the fabric in place now, suddenly conscious of it.

Shit.

He withdrew instantly, fingers curling into a fist on the steering wheel. Should’ve just minded his goddamn business. Stupid, stupid man.

For a second, the air between them felt too tight. Even with the windows rolled down and winter winds howling outside, he broke into a sweat.

"Didn't see it," she mumbled.

He just shook his head, a small, dismissive grunt, keeping his eyes straight ahead. And that was that.

But the silence that settled over them after wasn’t comfortable. Not one either of them knew how to break.

Joel exhaled through his nose, fixing his stare on the windshield., fingers tapping slowly against the wheel, like he could smooth out the moment just by waiting it out. Jesus, he should’ve never touched her. Should’ve let it be.

“So, that prototype of yours,” he attempted to distract, voice rough. “You got it nearby?”

No response.

He frowned, risked a glance at her—and stopped cold.

Leela sat stiff in the passenger seat, her posture folded in on itself. One slender hand curled at her side, gripping the hem of her nightgown tight until her knuckles went white, the other was pressed to her face, knuckles braced against her nose. Her eyes filled with tears in seconds.

A long, slow breath in, too shaky.

Joel’s stomach sank. He knew that sound. He had seen a lot of it in his time. Had seen grief in all its forms—loud, violent, shattering. But this—this was different. This was quiet, heavy, desperate.

Her shoulders hitched, her breath sucking in too sharp like she was holding something back—something about to give.

And then, just like that, as if a thread had been cut, she sucked in another sharp breath, her whole body curling forward, hands coming up to cover her face—and it hit.

That same soft, keening sound he’d heard from her room almost every night. The one that came through thin walls, muffled by pillows, engulfed by fatigue.

But this time, she wasn’t hiding.

And Joel—he didn’t know what to do. His hands flexed against the wheel, confused and useless.

She wasn’t supposed to be crying. Not because of his pathetic self. Whichever way he saw it, this was his fault. He’d crossed a line, broken through a wall he’d meant to keep standing, and now she was here—crying. Because he couldn't keep his hands to himself.

His mouth opened, and his throat worked, but nothing happened. Fuck. What the hell was he even supposed to say? Everything seemed inappropriate. There was no justification for what he'd done.

His fingers curled tighter, nails digging into his palm. He had to fix it. Before it got worse.

His voice came out too rough, uncertain. “I'm sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Just go.”

It hit like a crack of thunder. A faint, clear command, strangled between a cry. His stomach twisted.

He hesitated for half a second, long enough to hear the way her breath hitched, how her fingers curled deeper into her hair, how she looked like she wanted to fold in on herself, disappear into the goddamn leather seat.

He swallowed, jaw clenched so tight it ached.

He'd had seen women cry before. Ellie, Tess, hell even Maria. He’d occasionally held them while they did. But not this. Not her. And he hated—hated—that it was because of him.

His fingers flexed against his sides, fighting the instinct to reach out, to fix something he wasn’t sure could be fixed. But she’d made herself perfectly clear. To leave her alone.

So he did.

He wrenched the door open, barely registering the way it swung shut behind him. Didn’t look back, didn’t breathe until he was back up the stairs and out the door.

As he jogged down the porch stairs, the cold biting sharper now, cutting straight through the thick weave of his sweater, Joel tried to breathe. Snowflakes clung to the expensive fabric, melting fast, sinking in. He barely noticed. His inhales came long, exhales too short, not quite ragged, but uneven—like he couldn’t get enough air, like something in his chest was pressing down too hard, and no matter how deep he pulled, it wasn’t letting up.

It wasn’t panic. He knew what that felt like all too well.

This was different. A slow, creeping wrongness. A feeling that something had already slipped through his fingers, something he hadn’t even realized he was holding onto. And now it was gone, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to fix it.

He pressed a hand to his mouth, and wiped it down the scruff on his jaw, trying to steady himself, trying to shove it all back where it belonged. It wasn’t working.

His fingers curled into an aching fist. His breath fogged in the air in clouds.

He needed that fucking drink now.

X

The cold still lingered in the morning air, plunging deep in Joel’s bones, but that wasn’t the only thing weighing him down. He hadn’t slept worth a damn. Tossed and turned all night, drifting in and out of restless half-dreams—images he didn’t want, memories he didn’t need. He woke up cold, despite the blankets, with a dull ache in his joints, and a scratch in his throat. Maybe from the weather. Maybe from something else.

It didn’t fucking matter. What mattered was getting out of that house. Getting up, getting moving. Keeping his hands busy, keeping his mind from straying where it wanted to go—back to last night, back to the way she had curled in on herself, hands to her face, shaking while he couldn’t fix. He despised being around something unfixable. Made him feel incompetent.

He gripped the stack of papers tighter, the edges digging into his fingers as he stepped into the stables. Tommy was there, adjusting the saddle on one of the mares, humming some old tune under his breath. The familiar smell of hay, leather, and horse sealed the space, anchoring Joel in the moment. He clung to that belonging.

“Tommy!” Joel called, his voice rougher than he meant it to be.

Tommy glanced up, brow lifting in mild curiosity. “Mornin’, brother. No hard feelings from last night,” he said, giving the straps one last tug before stepping back. His gaze flickered to the papers in Joel’s hand. “What’s all this?”

Joel didn’t answer right away. Just extended them out. Tommy brushed his palms off before taking them, flipping through the pages absentmindedly—until he wasn’t. His fingers slowed, putting together the pieces, his brows knitting together, his mouth parting just slightly.

“What in the... I mean—I talked to her about this,” Tommy muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. “Told her we'd be having trouble. That was last week.” He let out a low breath, rubbing at his mouth as he stared at the pages like they had just appeared out of thin air. “She really did all this?”

Joel exhaled with a slight grin, feeling like someone had just handed him a gold star. An odd feeling—one he didn’t quite know what to do with. It wasn’t his place to feel this way, no right to. But still, pride curled as concrete in his ribs.

“She stayed up workin’ on ‘em,” Joel muttered, not quite looking at him.

Tommy let out a short whistle, shaking his head. “Christ. This little genius just saved our asses out of the red.” He waved the papers at him. “Takin' this straight to Maria.”

Joel rolled his shoulders, clearing his throat. “Not just yet. There's a page missing.”

Tommy paused and frowned, flipping through again. “The hell you talkin’ about?”

Joel crossed his arms, tilting his head. “I’ll give it to you if you let me fix that nursery instead of that goddamn kid.”

Tommy looked up at that, blinking. Then, realization dawned, slow and amused. His mouth curved into a smirk.

“For real, Joel?”

Joel scoffed, shaking his head. “Can’t even fix shelves right.”

Tommy cocked a brow. “He's just doing his job.”

“Little shit damn near had it fallin’ apart the last time I was there,” he argued. “Look, do you want the page or not? I'll just feed it to the horse.”

Tommy let out a sharp laugh, tipping his head back slightly. “You really got a bone to pick with this poor guy, huh?”

Joel’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t answer. Just kept his arms crossed, eyes unwavering. He wasn't backing down just yet.

Tommy shook his head, flipping the last page with a chuckle. “Fine, fine. You can fix whatever you want.” Then, without missing a beat, he held out his hand. “Now gimme the damn page.”

Joel handed it over without another word. But the way Tommy was still looking at him—grinning like he had something to say but was letting Joel walk away with his dignity intact—had him turning on his heel before his brother could get the last word in.

X

[ wow you read this far! now, if you're still reading, I'd just like to know - what song crept into your mind, about Joel or Leela, as you read this chapter? For Joel, definitely: Pain and Misery by The Teskey Brothers and as for Leela, ooooh: Wasteland by Royal & the Serpent! what about you? ]

{ taglist 🫶: @kaseynsfws , @prose-before-hoes , @kateg88 , @laliceee , @escaping-reality8 , @mystickittytaco , @penvisions , @elliaze , @eviispunk , @lola-lola-lola , @peepawispunk , @sarahhxx03 , @julielightwood , @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi , @arten1234 , @jhiddles03 , @everinlove , @nobodycanknoww , @ashleyfilm , @rainbowcosmicchaos , @i-howl-like-a-wolf-at-the-moon , @orcasoul , @nunya7394 , @noisynightmarepoetry , @picketniffler , @ameagrice , @mojaveghst , @dinomecanico , @guelyury , @staytrueblue , @queenb-42069 , @suzysface , @btskzfav , @ali-in-w0nderland , @ashhlsstuff , @devotedlypaleluminary , @sagexsenorita , @serenadingtigers , @yourgirlcin , @henrywintersgun , @jadagirl15 , @misshoneypaper , @lunnaisjustvibing , @enchantingchildkitten , @senhoritamayblog , - thank you!! awwwww we're like a little family <3

And to those in the reblogs, I have no idea how to respond to your sweet, sweet, wondrous words, but after reading them all, I have the most fulfilling, full eight-hour sleep I've ever had in three whole months! I love all the effort you put into commenting, and sharing your thoughts, I know it doesn't seem big, but really, you've made such a difference in my life :) Thank you all so much, and I'd love to keep hearing more!!

@darknight3904 , @guiltyasdave , @letsgobarbs , @helskemes , @jodiswiftle , @tinawantstobeadoll , @bergamote-catsandbooks , @cheekychaos28 , @randofantfic , @justagalwhowrites , @emerald-evans , @amyispxnk , @corazondebeskar-reads , @wildemaven , @tuquoquebrute , @elli3williams }

[burningcheese-merchant]

"You and I... We are meant to be together." okay everyone pack it up. go home. it doesn't get worse than this. I fear all other ancient x beast is #cancelled forever because how the utter fuck do you compete with that. My god. Dark Cacao would die on the spot, his old fucking heart would give out processing a sentence that romantic. Golden Cheese would choke and die from the physical manifestation of her own pride and ego before she could ever utter a sentence that open and honest. Hollyberry is choosing to laugh it all off and pray she can drink away and not think about it. White Lily would fall into another witch pot of bubbling goo before confronting said feelings. Only Pure Motherfucking Vanilla is that clincally batshit and unburdened to spout his feelings 1000% unfiltered to a guy who just killed his friends and got his rocks off psychologically torturing him.

Mystic Flour being utterly repulsed by such naïve, meaningless sentimentality, still clinging to the remains of the apathy she so cherishes and champions even as it slips through her fingers like flour through a sieve; hating herself to her very core because somewhere within it, she KNOWS her heart beats and aches for that ridiculous man, but she would end her own suffering before she allowed the truth to poke its head out from the shadows of her subconscious for even a single second

Burning Spice knowing how he feels for Golden Cheese, reveling in it, LIVING for the way his heart thunders in his chest and his breath hitches at the mere thought of his little bird. Never being afraid to tell her so, to pour out the contents of his dark heart without any filter (and Witches know he needs one at times...), either through his mouth or through the blade of his axe. But... still knowing that it isn't quite enough. Not for her. Because there's still something missing from his confessions. That soft, sugary sweetness that took away enough of the edge to his overwhelming spice that even he himself noticed it. That raw honesty - a different kind than he's used to, not quite what he employs. The kind that well and truly leaves him vulnerable and open to judgment; things he hates himself for fearing, even if it's only in relation to her and no one else. The kind he simply cannot have, that he cannot carry out. He tells Golden Cheese how he feels for her the way he WANTS to, not the way he NEEDS to. For that, he must change. And damn it, he can't handle any more change. It'll kill him, and he doesn't want to die anymore. Not while she's there to make his life fun again

Eternal Sugar sighing, rolling her eyes before letting them flutter shut again, because she knows this song and dance. She once helped countless others perform it; such was her lot as Happiness. And she chooses to ignore it, tuck herself back into bed and retreat into the world of dreams once more. Letting laziness govern her actions, like always. Running away from everything again - including her feelings for Hollyberry, and the fears and doubts that shroud them. Choosing to do nothing with the fact that Hollyberry is a runner and a quitter just like her, instead of taking initiative with her life and emotions for the first time in ages and telling Hollyberry point-blank that they could run away from the world together if she truly wanted

Silent Salt secretly lamenting his condition more than ever before, for now more than ever can he truly say that it is a hindrance, a curse, a stain on the tapestry of his life. Because no matter how well he's trained himself to express his thoughts and feelings through his actions, he knows that there are times where words really DO speak louder - and he can't speak them at all. He can never look White Lily in the eye and open his mouth and allow his praise and adoration to leap freely from his tongue. She will never feel the warmth of his tone as his words embraced her. She will never shiver and swoon at the joy and passion that dripped from every single letter - and there would've been many, there would've been more than could ever have been recorded, for he would've sung his feelings from every rooftop on earth until his lungs gave out. But he can't. He never will. Does he try to pretend it's better this way? Does he try and fail to cope with his lovesickness like his comrades do with theirs? Or does he accept the bitter reality for what it is, no ifs, ands, or buts, only hiding the gloom and doom he knows is written all over his face behind his helm just so he doesn't have to see it for himself?

And, above all of these things, bundling up the other 4 Beasts' feelings and tucking them away... Above all else, they are angry. They are angry at Shadow Milk. Because he achieved what none of them could. He got everything he wanted. His Ancient admitted his love for him, with all of the raw sincerity one could possibly afford another. The other Beasts would do ANYTHING to hear their Ancients speak to them in such a way. To acknowledge and embrace their connection, to confess to loving and longing for them; for their countenance, for their voice, for their touch, for their very souls. Shadow Milk got to reunite with his other half - who chose him willingly, wholeheartedly.

And Shadow Milk chose to throw it all away in the end. Let it all go to waste.

If any of them ever see him again, they're going to let him know EXACTLY how they feel about it all. Maybe it can count as practice towards crafting a proper heartfelt confession.

[gracexthoughts]

Māzigon arlī naejot issa.

(Come back to me)

jacaerys velaryon x betrothed!reader

warnings; talk of injuries and blood, canon divergence, angst ending with comfort summary; reader was sent to rook’s rest and when she returns injured, jace nearly looses his mind  a/n; reader is targaryen and in my head she is maybe rhaenyra’s cousin but i didn’t feel like fleshing out a whole family for her so you can use your imagination. 

Jacaerys has been going mad. The Lady Y/N has been gone for hours, and every second more that the Prince was ignorant of her fate was a second closer to him flying off in search of her. She’d volunteered to fly to Rook’s Rest and face Cole’s army herself. Her dragon, Silverwing, is the largest dragon with a rider second only to Vhagar, but she’s been gone too long for the prince’s liking. He’d begged her not to go, begged his mother to send him instead, and neither had listened. He couldn’t deny the logic of the choice, but the longer she stayed at battle, the more images of her broken and bloody flooded her betrothed’s mind. 

The Prince and the Queen stand on the balcony off his chambers. Queen Rhaenyra has tried calming her son, but to no avail. The sun nears the horizon, setting the sky on fire in shades of gold and red, but Jacaerys only watches for signs of his betrothed. 

“I’m going after her,” Jacaerys blurts out, unable to contain himself any longer, pushing off the stone half wall. 

“No,” the queen says firmly, moving to block her son’s path. Ever since the death of Prince Lucerys, the queen has kept her eldest son close, refusing to send him out on dragon back. 

“She should have been back by now! I will not just sit here and await news of her fate,” the prince argues, his voice strained and fraught. The Queen’s heart aches at the panic in her son’s eyes. 

“Y/N is a fierce dragon rider. I am confident she will return soon,” she says placatingly, reaching up to cup his cheek, but Jacaerys pushes her away. 

“No, I can’t just sit here. She’s to be my wife; I’m meant to protect her, not sit safely by in a castle while she risks her life protecting my birthright!” The prince exclaims and pushes through the doors to his chambers, but a dragon’s shriek stops him in his path. He whips around, his eyes scanning the skies for the sight of his betrothed. And then he sees her. 

Jacaerys sprints through the halls of Dragonstone, his steps echoing against the stone as he makes his way out of the castle. He should feel relieved, but the prince cannot shake the fear clutching at his heart. 

As Jacaeryrs reaches the mouth of the Dragonmount, all his fears come to the forefront. Y/N isn’t in the saddle; instead, she’s clutched in the silver claws of her dragon, her arm hanging limply down. Silverwing sets her down gently before landing herself, and Jacaerys swears he can see the sadness in her massive silver eyes. “No, no, no,” Jacaerys mutters, dropping to his knees next to her body, tears blurring his vision as he pulls her body to him. Her clothes are covered in blood and singed, an arrow lodged in her shoulder, and a gash on her side. Her silver hair is dark with ash and crimson, but breath still moves through her lips shallowly, a small beacon of hope. Without any thought but her care, he scoops her into his arms, cradling the body of his betrothed to his chest and running as fast as he can back to the castle. 

“Call the master!” He bellows to the first guard he sees, his voice fraught and cracking, the princely tone he maintains forgotten in his panic. “Hold on, my love.”

As he pushes his way through the doors of the castle, the Grand Maester and the queen, followed by Ser Lorrent, rush towards the pair. “Help her!” The prince shrieks at the maester, all manners forgotten, and his expression is wild with fear. Used to such behavior, Grand Maester Gerardys simply nods and inspects the body in the prince’s arms. 

“We’ll take her to her chambers. I’ll meet you there,” he says and turns, hurrying off to gather supplies. Ser Lorrent steps forward, his arms outstretched, to take the girl from the prince, but Jacaerys pushes past him, following after the maester up to the stairs and hurries to her apartments. 

As they reach her chambers, the prince lays her down gently on her bed, not caring for the state of her bedclothes. He stays close to her side as the maester gathers his things, watching her closely to make sure she stays breathing. Soon, Geradys comes to her side. “Excuse me, my prince,” he says softly to the young prince, but he doesn’t seem to hear. Rhaenyra steps forward, her hand wrapping around her son’s shoulder. 

“Darling, let the Grand Maester work,” she says softly, pulling Jacaerys back a few steps. Rhaenyra tries to coax him away to wash and change, as he is now covered in his betrothed’s blood, but he refuses. 

“No, I won’t leave her,” he says, pulling against his mother. 

“We won’t; just give him space, my darling,” she coos, pulling him to her and wrapping her arms around her darling son, whose body is shaking. He relents to his mother’s pull, allowing him to be held like a child as he watches the maester struggle to keep the love of his life in the world of the living. 

Nearly an hour later, the maester turns to the prince and queen, blood staining his front and hands and his eyes weary. “I’ve done all I can, your Grace, my Prince. It is up to her spirit and the gods now. But she is a fighter, if ever there was one,” the Geradys says, his eyes soft for the Prince of Dragonstone. The Queen thanks him, but Jacaerys isn’t listening, moving forward numbly. He kneels next to the bed, his shaking hands reaching for hers, the ash and blood washed clean by the maester. He presses a gentle kiss on her skin, gripping her hand tightly between his own. 

“Y/N, my love,” the Crown Prince whispers, reaching up to brush a strand of silver hair from her brow. “You have to fight. Please, you can’t... I can’t lose you as well, please. Kostilus, māzigon arlī naejot issa. Ko-Kostilus,” he begs, his throat closed tightly as tears slip down his cheeks. Please, come back to me. 

***

It’s a full day before Y/N wakes, and Jacaerys has refused to leave her side. Late afternoon light shines into the room, beams of light cutting the air and washing it in an amber glow. Amethyst eyes flutter open, blinking in the brightness of the room. 

“Jace?” She mutters; her voice is rough and her throat is burning. 

“Y/N!” Jace gasps, jumping up from his seat in the center of the room to kneel at her side, gingerly taking her hand in his. “You’re awake!” he laughs in relief, his vision blurring with tears of joy. He drinks her in, her weary smile, and the lilac swirls in her eyes he thought he’d never see again. 

“How long-?” She begins groggily, attempting to sit up by the wound in her abdomen, causing her to grimace. Jacaerys gently pushes her back down to the pillows.

“Don’t move, my love. Silverwing brought you back one evening past. You were,” the prince swallows, his throat constricting at the memory, “badly wounded. Gods, I feared you’d not wake.” He reaches for her, his calloused hand cradling her head. 

“I’m afraid you’re stuck with me, my prince,” she smiles. Even wounded and weak, her humor remains. Jacaerys laughs through his tears, moving to sit on the bed and covering her face in kisses, making her giggle until it causes too much pain in her stomach. 

“What happened?” Jace asks, sitting back and holding her hand tightly. 

“Aemond was there, and Aegon. It was a trap,” she sighs, grimacing. “We were engaged with Sunfyre when Vhagar appeared... I had to fly close to the ground to get out from between the pair, and their archers took advantage.” 

“Gods, I will kill both of them for laying a hand on you,” the prince says, his voice crackling with anger.

“I’m alright, Jace,” she coos, reaching up to cradle his beautiful face in her hands. His anger subsides at her touch, her gentleness soothing the fires raging inside him. 

“You’re wounded; you nearly died. If you’d arrived minutes later, you would have been passed by the time you returned to me. My love, Icouldn’t bear it if you-”

“Jace-”

“Promise me. Please just promise me you’ll be more careful,” the prince implores, his amber eyes fierce and wide. 

“I promise, Jace. I do, and I will,” she says earnestly, their eyes locked for a long moment. “Come here,” she whispers, pulling on his hands to bring him closer. “Lay with me?” 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“You could never. Please?” Y/N’s eyes plead with the prince, and he forgets any notion of courtly manners or what is proper for two betrotheds as he comes to lay in her bed. Careful of her injuries, he wraps his arms around her, pulling her frame into his, and she rests her head against his chest, sighing in relief at returning home to him. There they lay, the future king and queen of the Seven Kingdoms, basking in each other’s warmth and thanking the gods for another day of safety in this war.

[kidicaruslover911]

vampire knight!arlecchino alternative universe headcanons

tw: yandere(?), bodies dropping mysteriously left and right, implied mind manipulation, vampire stuff duh, over usage of the word ‘cold’ 😭WLW!! human reader, nsfw, slight somnophilia, virgin reader, women kissing, eating out, fingering, period sex (scares me so bad but vampire arle would)

a/n: i’m tired 🤎 i could not stop thinking about this so stay with me for a second…. now walk with me.

also let’s pretend arlecchino’s fingernails are short for the smut part and she grows them back later <33

not very descriptive on the blood either sorry! ANYWAYS have these crumbs!

vampire knight!arlecchino, whos been hired by your parents to keep you safe and away from sneaking out to meet with your secret peasant lover, unbefitting for a princess yet under no circumstances do you want to marry the lord that has already been chosen for you.

vampire knight!arlecchino who at first, no one suspects a thing about with such a charming yet strict appearance AND words.

vampire knight!arlecchino who’s inanimate heart almost explodes from delight at the first sight of you, archons, the woman could’ve succumbed on the spot.

vampire knight!arlecchino who doesn't understand why you're so cold towards her at first; yes, your parents locked you in this castle, but only because it was necessary, to keep you safe!

vampire knight!arlecchino who literally vows to herself to do everything in her power to always keep you safe and close to her.

vampire knight!arlecchino who will be taking the necessary precautions to keep you away from showing any slight romantic interest in anyone that isn’t her. any kind of interest at all actually.

vampire knight!arlecchino who rigidly abstained herself from the taste of human blood for the longest time now and who’s self control is hanging on by a thread from the moment she lays his eyes you. and yet she perseveres.

vampire knight!arlecchino who you try so much to avoid having any kind of eye contact with because her lifeless eyes, tainted with those unusual red ‘x’s as pupils are simply that hypnotizing. she is hypnotizing.

vampire knight!arlecchino who can’t help but gawk at the bewitching form of your neck, tender and appetizing but deems herself of too impure of a creature to even allow herself to fantasize about tasting you.

vampire knight!arlecchino who makes sure to force herself to have her fill of wild animals blood, such as rabbits and deers deep into the night, to keep herself from doing anything she might regret later. it is clearly insufficient but she perseveres.

vampire knight!arlecchino who most of the maids are terrorized of and others think behaves strangely yet they cannot pinpoint why or what exactly it is, constantly gossiping about her even though whenever her name find itself on her their tongues, they feel as if they were constantly being watched.

vampire knight!arlecchino who chooses to ignore the gossip as long as they don’t grow too suspicious of her.

vampire knight!arlecchino who lets you escape/sneak out on purpose, only to jumpscare you within your misty surroundings, to ‘sweet talk’ you back into your castle, with her! right where you belong <33

vampire knight!arlecchino who’s senses are naturally heightened, you soon find out that you can’t run, no matter how hard you try :)

vampire knight!arlecchino who is always so gentle, kind and patient with you despite her stoic exterior, she really does try her best even when you lash out at her, cry and beg her to let you go see your lover for just an instant, to let you get some fresh air but alas :(

vampire knight!arlecchino who tries to impress you with her centuries of knowledge on various subjects to humor and entertain you as much as possible (you hate it at first but with time, you can’t help and engage with her out of genuine interest)

vampire knight!arlecchino who always finds ways to relax your fried nerves when you haven’t heard from your lover in an awfully long while. how could you when you’re hardly ever allowed outside?

vampire knight!arlecchino who stays cold and denies diplomatic as ever when the gardener swears to your parents that he has seen her kneel next to a some dead animal, seeming to suck on its ‘soul’ before the first rays of sunlight could reach the woman. your parents strangely yet very simply fired him and the man was never to be seen again. you came to find out later that his body had been found again days after the the events, dismembered, not too far from a dead rabbit who’s fur has been tainted with its own blood, stemming from the unmistakable imprint of a pair of fangs.

vampire knight!arlecchino who decides that the maids won’t be necessary to accommodate you for certain tasks anymore; she has better taste when it comes to choosing your dresses for you and she knows how to style hair anyway and! she has your parents approval :)) which she may or may not have swayed to have them agree with her

vampire knight!arlecchino who decides to let you out to get that fresh air but only with her accompanying you at all times and never outside of the castle’s gates.

vampire knight!arlecchino who can’t help but see you as her little dress up doll, allowing herself to assist you when getting ready in the morning down to when you get ready for bed.

vampire knight!arlecchino who, whenever you struggle to fall asleep and on your own demand, delicately grazes her nails across your skin, be it your forearm, your nape or down your spine. it was something she had done once and now you can hardly ever rest without it.

vampire knight!arlecchino who’s aches for your body’s warmth.

vampire knight!arlecchino who may or may not have manipulated your dreams to have you think of her a little more than usual as well.

vampire knight!arlecchino who asks for your permission to lay with you after you had a nightmare to try and comfort you in her arms knowing she cannot offer you any heat. it made you gasp at the first contact yet you decided not to pry.

vampire knight!arlecchino who’s permanent cool skin temperature never fails to make you worry for her even though she assures you she feels fine.

vampire knight!arlecchino who encourages you to eat, your sorrow concerning your partner’s disappearance shouldn’t hinder you to gain forces again. she really wants you to have some source of energy.

vampire knight!arlecchino who goes as far as to mimic eating while seeking for every ounce of strength within her to not immediately reject it, simply to have you have consume something.

vampire knight!arlecchino who did such a great job at watching over you that your parents finally trust to leave the castle for a while, meaning that it’ll only be you, her and the maids for a few months (may or may not have swayed them to leave in this one too)

vampire knight!arlecchino who developed a habit of keeping her hand on your lower back which you don’t necessarily hate anymore.

vampire knight!arlecchino who comforts your fragile form within her metallic embrace when you find out your lovers slashed body has been found in a river not too long ago.

vampire knight!arlecchino who shushes you gently, she thinks you shouldn’t waste so many tears on them and that you and this other person simply ‘weren’t meant to be’.

vampire knight!arlecchino who wipes your faces with her frosty yet so careful fingers while whispering that she’s here now and always, that you don’t have to worry your pretty head about anything, that she’ll take care of you and everything else .

vampire knight!arlecchino who decides that she won’t use her powers to have you fall for her. she can tell that you’ve already been struggling a lot not to even when your supposed lover was still alive and she wants to leave that inner battle to yourself.

vampire knight!arlecchino who’s face nuzzles deeper and deeper into the crook of your neck, taking in your scent as if to try to compose herself; you’re on your period and her senses are tingling ever so highly.

vampire knight!arlecchino who thinks she’s hallucinating when she finally feels you press back against her in your sleep, sweet and delicate noises gracing her ears.

vampire knight!arlecchino who first believes to hear a constrained sigh, a gasp and then; a whimper…a wet dream?

vampire knight!arlecchino who takes her time to observe your troubled frame tucked next to her, the hand she has snuck around your waist hesitant to make itself useful to your pretty ‘problem’.

vampire knight!arlecchino who can’t help but wait a little more, before she languidly lets the tip of her nose run up and down your nape, fresh breath blowing against your burning skin, agitating your own breathing pattern before she goes to press one cautious peck up to your nape; another whimper.

vampire knight!arlecchino who’s eyes grow heavier and who wants to hear you huff and mewl for her some more before she easily pulls you in by your hips, her cold lips brushing against the shell of your ear shortly before she goes to kiss the side of your neck again, but this time she tends to it truly, she adores you, attacking your collarbone with gentle nips and licks to make it all better, leaving her mark when she internally has to urge herself not to grow her fangs right here and now at your continuous squirming before pulling back momentarily.

vampire knight!arlecchino who has you now wide awake, your own hand guiding her firm ones to caress the curve of your sides in a daze.

vampire knight!arlecchino who whispers into your ear whether you’re certain you want this, the sheepish yet very telling nod of yours seemingly giving her the encouragement she needs to move upwards towards your breasts which her slender fingers squeeze gently, before fondling you attentively through your nightgown, thumbs rubbing and brushing against your already hardened peaks, earning her another stutter; it makes her chuckle and it isn’t long before she flips you over, keeping you in her shadow to finally give her a chance to see what she can make you feel.

vampire knight! arlecchino who knows that she’s your first and who’s glowing red pupils, pale and statuesque being dipped within the moonlights embrace you can’t help but tremble before, motivating the vampire to take her time even more with you, helping you unbutton your gown little by little only leaning down to kiss and nibble at the swell of your bosom peeking over the loosened fabric; kisses being soon replaced with a supple and needy tongue, eagerly swirling around your soft buds with closed eyes one after as you’re left breathlessly struggling against the woman’s strong hold, leaving your hands no other choice but to find a home within her silver curls, involuntarily tugging at their roots which earns you a muffled groan. “do it again”.

vampire knight! arlecchino who kisses deeper and lower along the exposed skin, every inch she can adore, whispering about how perfect and divine you are after each parting sound of her hungry lips, fresh and taunting ones until she feels you tense up just when she’s about to reach your pelvis.

vampire knight! arlecchino who stops immediately even though the scent of your blood keeps tickling, starved system yearning and calling for her senses.

vampire knight! arlecchino who fears that due to her nature her lovemaking has you feeling as if you were bedding a corpse :(

vampire knight!arlecchino who effectively silences you with a first passionately sloppy kiss when you tell her with great embarrassment that you’ve been leaking, having you a simultaneously grace her with a blissful sound of shame as you feel her thigh purposefully press against something in between yours, which leaves you instinctively pulling her closer to you with a whine, desperate to feel her skin against yours and right now you couldn’t care less about its negative temperature, truly. if anything, it only heightens the pleasurable sensations the vampire has yet to gift you and by the way you’re already rolling your hips onto her, no rhythm or experience at all as to how how to bring yourself to your peak, it is clear that despite your very unfortunate situation, neither of you really want to stop.

vampire knight!arlecchino who leaves a trail of long and meaningful pecks down onto the sides of your thighs, one hand resting against the back of your knee which she soon props onto her shoulder, looking up to search for your gaze and seek for your consent one last time. she wants you to say that you want this. the wait is unbearable, her hunger for you insatiable and she has yet to taste you; your messy cunt glistening wet with your juices, throbbing clit that aches to be acknowledged and taken care of and at last…her food. “i want more of you” and your wish is her command.

vampire knight!arlecchino who calls your pussy pretty and cute, asks you whether all of this truly is for her; and you answer again. ‘no need to shy away from me, my dearest’ the vampire tells you to keep watching, that she’s truly flattered as places a kiss on it, licking her lips before blowing some air right after, earning her a sinful shudder and such a desperate plea from you, she can only hum in agreement when she sees your clitoris pulse for her in anticipation.

vampire knight!arlecchino who lets out the most obscene moan as soon as she gets to lap at your swollen entrance and the delightful flow of blood, dark vermilion fluid mixed with your slick smearing across her mouth already and she swears she could cum right now, forcing your thighs to spread wider while maintaining eye contact as she runs her tongue up to your sensitive clit and sucks, a sinful ‘pop’ resonating within the dark of the room along with your pitched mewls which you try to cover with your hand but!

vampire knight!arlecchino who pulls away and warns you that the next time you try to hide from her she’ll stop and have you grind on her thigh all night long without her help, knowing that you have no experience and no idea as to what you’d be doing without her guidance.

vampire knight!arlecchino who tells you to keep your fingers in her hair and pull if you need to. she wants to feel the effect she has on you.

vampire knight!arlecchino who groans into your folds and keeps feasting upon you like the sweet treat that you are, the vibrations of her voice making you buck your hips to her lips, teary eyed and overwhelmed with all that she is offering you, your hand instinctively trying to push her head away; it’s too much.

vampire knight!arlecchino whom your helplessness only makes her devour you deeper, further pulling you down towards her skilled and tingling wet muscle, working your tight cunt obsessively, her thumb entering the picture to apply the right amount of pressure onto your moist pearl, soon enough inserting a first finger which easily slides in while continuously praising you, and then another once again, moving exactly where you need it, as if to prove that you are the only woman she worships. because you are.

vampire knight!arlecchino who’s intensified glowing eyes and freezing skin despite the current circumstances have betrayed her true self long ago, hips bucking and fighting against her strength, she leaves you too drunk on her mouth to actually process that you literally have a starving vampire quenching her thirst on you while showing you a whole new underworld and it’s different sensations.

vampire knight!arlecchino who can’t help but let her mind wander towards the possibility to turn you into her mate at this very moment, head burried in your heat as she whispers more praises you aren’t really sure to pick up, the melody of your endless cries and heaves drive her intrepid hands to wander and play with your chest once more, your own frantically rushing to intertwine your fingers with one another. by now you’re close and a blabbering mess practically begging for her to take you and officially make you her own.

vampire knight!arlecchino who’s fingers curl inward with final intent, now repeatedly hitting a delicate spot inside you at an inhuman speed which has the knot in your stomach release in no time and cum all over her mouth, just like she demands it.

vampire knight!arlecchino who decides to not turn you yet and keep this conversation for a later time, when you’ll have returned to all your senses.

vampire knight!arlecchino who presses one last kiss against your ankle and who you strangely cannot exactly have any ill feelings for even after discovering the truth. the glow in her eyes is gone now and she makes sure to cover you properly again and ask whether she did anything she shouldn’t have…how strange.

vampire knight!arlecchino who has never felt this satisfied and surprisingly full of in a long time on such an amount of fluids, licking her fingers clean, the same ones she had used to ruin your cunt.

vampire knight!arlecchino who thinks she might get diabetes from how quickly she craves your blood and juices again but given how shaken up it left your body, she digresses. for now.

vampire knight!arlecchino who decides to tell you about how your parents won’t be coming back for….some other day. and the lord who was supposed to marry you as well! everything has been taken care of, just like she promised <33

vampire knight!arlecchino who makes sure to run you a bath and wash you, change the bed sheets later on and run her nails across your skin just how you like it, only then explaining further things about herself and her past.

bonus: vampire knight!arlecchino who has forgotten what actual sweet things (don’t worry you’re sweet enough!) taste like and kisses you whenever you just bit into a fruit or had a sweet treat (it’s her excuse to lick at you a little)

a/n: I don’t think I’ve ever used so many commas in one go omg. thinking about making a part 2 idk

[ailoda]

updated: 05.01.25

݁₊ ⊹ smut

Don't Blame Me (✘): Daphne Bridgerton is your closest childhood friend, her eldest brother, Anthony, is the love of your life. After avoiding each other for years, you both finally lose control. (@peachpitfics)

Lady Bridgerton (✘): reader has been married to Anthony Bridgerton for too long, it feels, although it has only been a few years. In that short time, not only has he only touched her naked body once, but he comes home most nights smelling of sweat and another woman’s perfume. Lady Whistledown has caught wind of this, and the gossip sends Lady Bridgerton over the edge. Anthony takes the time to give his wife exactly what she’s asking for. (@sixx-sixx-sixx)

Yes, My Lord? (✘): since finding out you are pregnant Anthony simply cannot keep his hands to himself, and when you turn the tables his arousal runs wild. (@kylopen)

Soaked (✘): after reader is stranded by a carriage mishap, she finds herself lost in an attempt to make her way home alone. Luckily for her, another carriage happens to cross her path, belonging to none other than the Viscount Bridgerton himself… (@strangererotica)

↪︎ Part Two (✘): after accidentally causing Reader’s very first orgasm, Anthony does what any gentleman would do: he teaches her how to make it happen again, anytime she likes… ♥️

Convenience (✘): marrying to fulfil one’s duties is sound in theory when both parties are willing. This does not however take into consideration their wants and needs - emotional and otherwise. (@ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff)

Selfish (✘): it’s your first morning at home in bridgerton house as the viscountess- only thing is, your husband’s selfish. (@leviathanspain)

Rebel (✘): you only wanted a quiet refuge away from the ball, you got a lot more than that… (@fayes-fics)

Exquisite Weather Today, No? (❤✘): Anthony does not want to corrupt his innocent little wife... but what happens when his brothers lend him a helping hand? (@bellatrixscurls)

[yv0nn1e]

"'cause i don't feel alive 'til i'm burnin' on your backburner."

backburner — rafayel

summary: in every life, in every timeline, the god of the sea is doomed to sacrifice everything for his beloved, angering the deep sea, and causing lemuria to fall. in every timeline, the sea god's most dedicated follower cannot stop that from happening.

pairing: rafayel x (non!mc) fem!reader

cw/tw: pure angst? and blurry timeline & lore (heavily implied relation to myths and anecdotes from the game, but will have some non-canon twists of my own)

note: have i been gone for 2 years only to come back to write a gut wrenching thought i can't contain anymore about my beloved fishboy? yes.

wc: 2k+

thinking about non!mc reader who can see and remember every timeline she has ever been in. with those timelines being intertwined with lemuria and the sea god, rafayel, her beloved but not his.

non!mc reader starting in the forgotten sea timeline as a lemurian herself whose family is closely associated with the sea god, rafayel. when young, she finds herself unexplainably infatuated with an adolescent version of rafayel himself and his aura. he was just so mischievous and cheeky in a way that it made her admire his bravery and eagerness to just explore the world. she becomes close friends with him and eventually, she realizes the underlying danger she has put herself into.

"when lemurians fall in love with someone, all our senses are committed to perceive them."

at first, she found it sweet. cute even. she adored rafayel. even if she had no oath or celestial bond that bounds her to follow anything rafayel asks, she knows it deep down that she will still obey and do whatever he wants. rafayel, ever so kind, kept her near and considered her as one of the closest companions he's ever had in such a large yet lonely position as the next sea god. their bond was somehow intimate—with her keeping rafayel stable whenever the pressure of lemuria's expectations get to him and rafayel accepting her for who she is whole-heartedly. every flaw, every freckle, and every scale in her body and soul that he could see, he could understand.

but then one faithful day, years after their younger selves have formed their close friendship, a loyal group of humans who simply idolized the god of the sea set out to offer a sacrifice to rafayel. unknowingly, when their mission goes south due to a storm, this sacrifice of theirs manages to escape and unknowingly meet the sea god himself, asking if he were lemurian and for him to help her, only to get teasing from rafayel in response. then everything happens so quickly with a kiss that sets off the mark of their oath. to the girl, mc, it may seem as though she was just trying to survive since legends held tales of a lemurian's kiss blessing one with the ability of breathing underwater. yet to non!mc reader and rafayel, they knew that it was something much deeper. something binding. sooner, the sea god then chooses mc to become his 'devout follower', failing to see that there was already one who was so willing to be in that position. with that, non!mc reader realizes she's already lost rafayel, her beloved. their ever so holy tome (tome of the sea god) states the everlasting bond that the sea god has when he has chosen his devout follower—meaning, he is bound to that very person. every command and ask must never be disobeyed or rejected; otherwise, the bond breaks.

and non!mc reader's heart breaks, especially with that girl down in lemuria and the sea god's ceremony approaching where the sea god, rafayel, and his devout follower exchange vows. jealousy was an understatement. whilst all of lemuria await in excitement, she wallows in the truth that rafayel has undoubtedly chosen mc as his beloved and his bride. before the ceremony, rafayel meets non!mc reader one last time, jokingly teasing her to not worry for he won't forsake his friendship with her which only earns him a soft chuckle and a hidden pained smile. he then thanks her for all those years he stuck by her side, that he could not have gone past the challenges and hurdles of his training and his pursuits if not for her. 

"you mustn't forget to bestow us your utmost protection when you ascend to a higher level of godhood." she jests, trying to make light of the situation and distract herself with some light banter than she hopes might just change his mind and choose her to become his devout follower instead. 

rafayel could not promise her that. with the slight shift of his eyes, flickering a hint of guilt, non!mc reader supposes that she knew that too.

"to love you is a privilege." that i do not have. non!mc reader says to rafayel with a soft smile, her eyes calm yet hurt, somehow helpless too. she is unsure of what he plans to do but something within their conversation told her that perhaps, it would've been the last.

and it was.

outside the temple of lemuria, the civilization starts to shake and crumble. the lemurians run with panic, wondering what could have made the deep sea enraged on such a momentous occasion. as bloodshed stained the waters of the city, non!mc reader stood amidst the chaos, shutting her eyes in disappointment and regret that she could not have stopped rafayel from whatever he was planning to do. that she could not stop rafayel from giving his heart away to his beloved costing him lemuria and his most treasured friend.

non!mc reader remembering her life during the sea of golden sands timeline where she is a guide with abysswalker!rafayel. in this timeline, they strive hard to find a way to restore lemuria and when they find out that the princess of philos has what they need to achieve that, she insists on coming with rafayel to visit her, only for rafayel to refuse. 

she warns rafayel that it's dangerous. that he was already caught once when he was younger. that he was lucky for the princess to be kind enough to let him go. rafayel reassures her by telling him what happened that faithful day when rafayel was gifted to the princess of philos. he told her that one day, he'll come back for her. 

non!mc reader knew that rafayel would only be captured if he wanted to. meaning that he purposely wants to be caught just to see the princess. then it hits her. the princess of philos was the same girl who became the sea god's devout follower in another life. she doesn't know how or why she knows this kind of information but something in her just recognizes the emotional and literal agonizing pain of lemuria falling and her heart being torn to shreds. she then sets out a theory that she may have gained the ability to see her past lives. 

non!mc reader only finds herself becoming angry when rafayel brings the princess to the sand ruins, telling her his plans of reviving their homeland, lemuria. it angers her even more when the princess mentions dreams of the strangely familiar land. that's when she confirms that the princess was indeed rafayel's devout follower. when the princess regains her past memories after the tome reveals the symbols that stated the god of the sea killing his beloved to awaken the seas, non!mc reader knows that she's lost rafayel in this lifetime again. with much love for lemuria, she tries to set rafayel back to the right track, ignoring the fact that the princess was rafayel's beloved and convincing him to just take her heart already and revive lemuria. the princess then wished to return rafayel's heart after it is revealed that in the past life, during the ceremony of the sea god, rafayel had given his heart to mc instead of the other way around. this revelation lights fury within non!mc reader due to the clouding judgement that lemuria had fallen underneath its own god's sacrifice, seeing it as an act of betrayal on rafayel's part. yet, she said nothing. she said nothing even when rafayel refuses to take the princess' heart, even resorting to erasing her memories so that she'd forget this encounter. 

"you are such a paradox, rafayel." she says with underlying venom under her voice as she sits down on a dusty rock. "you wish to revive lemuria and yet you cannot make the one true sacrifice you need to do so."

"perhaps there are other ways." rafayel gently yet assertively says.

"perhaps." she responds which may seem polite and complacent enough, yet anyone with delicate ears can definitely dissect the mockery in her voice.

days later, as their crew prepares to leave, non!mc reader notices the light glow of the fishtail beacon rafayel carries with him. with amund questioning whether or not rafayel and the princess' bond was truly even broken, non!mc reader silently scoffs in irritation, especially when the princess somehow just arrives in their hideout. despite the anger she had for rafayel, her heart gets deja vu with the way the princess declares her wish to follow rafayel wherever he goes, as if swearing she'll be his devout follower in this life too. 

non!mc reader who swears she will not fall for rafayel in the next timeline she falls into when rafayel manages to put her life in death's door on this universe once more.

non!mc reader in the current timeline who, after the tsunami that revealed the reappearance of lemuria southeast of linkon, leaves the sea. leaves rafayel. leaves lemuria and her mermaid form to pursue becoming an actress on land, proceeding to be one of the most popular actresses as rafayel travels around the world, becoming a well-renowned painter who took revenge for those who wronged lemuria and his people on his own, secret ways.

non!mc reader whose heart stops on a windy day, with the sun setting and the waves of linkon city's beaches were playful once she sees rafayel walking towards her with a cheerful smirk. 

"it's been a while. if i didn't know better, i'd think you were avoiding me all this time." rafayel teases to which she shakes her head to ground her thoughts.

"if only i could truly avoid you." she responds with a well-practiced smile, feigning a friendly banter that long calls back to their very first timeline. 

"have you been well?" at this point, rafayel invites her to walk along the shores of linkon city, catching up on the years they've been apart. she could not deny it no matter how much she tries. she was fated to always be next to rafayel.

perhaps, it was also destiny's fault that she inevitably falls for him in every one of her lives.  

"i couldn't be happier." she lies. after the multiple lives she's lived, hiding her true feelings for the man, she's learned the skill of lying so swiftly as if she were actually uttering what she convinces herself was the truth. perhaps that was why she had grown to obtain a penchant for acting.

because in every universe, she has had to act as though she was not broken by the fact that she was undeniably in love with a man who was forever bounded to his beloved.

non!mc reader who foolishly accepts rafayel back into her life when he mentions that he's staying in linkon, even though something in her already knew that he was there for a reason. even though she long realized that rafayel agreed to also leave lemuria to travel the world only to search for his devout follower, his bride, his soulmate.

non!mc reader who is no longer surprised when rafayel introduces his new bodyguard, a young woman with a heart condition. she could only smile at the girl, knowing that rafayel, has once again, found her. that, once again, destiny has shoved it in her face that she was only meant to yearn for rafayel's love, forever by the sidelines.

a celebratory party was held for yn when she just reached a greater height for her acting career. she finds herself walking the shores of linkon at night in her velvet blue dress, the mermaid cut of the skirt softly brushing against the white sands. she adores the warmth of the yellow string lights within the trees and posts, engulfing herself in the solitude and respite she needed. truth be told, despite her love for her career, one of the main reasons she even pursued the thing was to distract herself from the impending doom and painful fate she was destined to go through, like in every timeline she was ever in. to be killed under her own deity's hands. 

"i never took you to be such a loner." a familiar voice takes her out of her trance, eyes shifting from the whispered waves of the beach and towards rafayel.

"just thanking home, i suppose." she responds elegantly, head tilting a bit to point to the ocean.

there was an awkward silence when she turns her body away from rafayel, her back facing him as she hugs herself to give some warmth from the cold brush of the sea breeze. 

"afraid to get in the water?" rafayel gently teases as he walks closer to her, arms already taking off his dark blue blazer, not even giving her a chance to react as he wraps the garment around her shoulders.

taken back, she tilts her head to look at him, eyes slightly wider than normal but not enough to show shock. 

"you looked like a cold fish." rafayel points out, justifying his actions. 

for a moment, she takes rafayel in once more. it's been so long that she's avoided true connection with him to lessen the pain she would have to endure in this timeline. he seemed the same. different yet the same. his purple hair softly brushing against his forehead, bringing out the multiple hues within his eyes, and the glint of different colors making up his skin under the glow of the moon. 

the longer she looks at him, the more she remembers every life she had suffered because of him. 

destiny is far too cruel with fate to let her fall in love with him over and over again.

destiny and fate be damned.

"i love you, rafayel." she didn't expect her voice to quiver but as soon as those words slipped past her lips, her eyes blinked with crystalline waters pooling above them, almost teasing their fall.

"i wish i didn't, but i can't help but fall for you in every life i can remember." rafayel, still taken back with what she said could only stand there.

"i don't know if you can remember but i certainly do, as if they were just memories of yesterday." biting her lips, she lets out a heavy breathe, letting the weight of centuries of pain after every timeline and every life go. "and i am most definitely tired of having to endure those lives standing by your side and keeping quiet of what i truly feel."

"i love you, rafayel, and words can not begin to describe the longing that my heart must go through just by standing next to you. i can not continue moving on from one life to another and pretend as though my heart does not beat for you. as though i am not ready to carve it out and serve it to you if that's what it took to open your eyes. it pains me, so to know that i am destined to a sad ending of being alone, without you. but perhaps, it's high time i fight against it."

non!mc reader who fails, falling in love for rafayel in this life and realizing that she will keep falling for him in every other one that may come.

"destiny had always been my biggest enemy, with you as my greatest regret."

[vintagetvstars]

Nichelle Nichols Vs. Eartha Kitt

Final

Propaganda

Eartha Kitt - (Batman) - No text propaganda

Nichelle Nichols - (Star Trek) - She speaks for herself. Legendary, iconic, at the forefront of feminism and civil rights in the 60s, she is a triple threat who did so much more. She volunteered from 1977 to promote recruitment diversity within NASA, including some of the first female and ethnic minority astronauts. Martin Luther King Jr. compared her work on Star Trek as a 'vital role model' to the civil rights marches. She refused to be dismissed, fought for visibility and shone whilst doing so. As a woman in stem, and simply a woman she means the world and stars above to me.

Master Poll List of the Hot Vintage TV Ladies Bracket

Additional propaganda below the cut

Nichelle Nichols:

She is the original badass babe. She was a black woman in a leading role on TV in the 60s, a trailblazer for black actresses for years to come. She is so beautiful and so awesome.

she's fantastic. have you seen her? paved the way for black actresses on TV even while her lines and scenes were being cut and improvised the most iconic uhura line in the series. (sulu: "I'll save you, fair maiden!" uhura, pushing him away: "sorry, neither!") she's incredibly talented and it's a crime the show didn't give her more screen time (or make her sing more often because she also has a beautiful voice!)

“Sorry, neither” in response to “fair maiden” was ad libbed by her. There’s a lot more I could say but what else do you need??

A sci-fi icon!

She was such a trailblazer, and Uhura was such an important character for so many people to be able to see on TV. Apparently Mae Jemison (the first African American woman to go into space) cited her as a reason she wanted to become an astronaut. She was just an absolute legend!

The story of Martin Luther King telling her not to quit Star Trek gives me chills. Representation matters. “Thank you so much, Dr. King. I’m really going to miss my co-stars.” Dr. King's smile, Nichols recalled, vanished from his face. "He said, 'What are you talking about?'" the actress explained. "I told him. He said, 'You cannot,' and so help me, this man practically repeated verbatim what Gene said. He said, 'Don’t you see what this man is doing, who has written this? This is the future. He has established us as we should be seen. 300 years from now, we are here. We are marching. And this is the first step. When we see you, we see ourselves, and we see ourselves as intelligent and beautiful and proud.' He goes on and I’m looking at him and my knees are buckling. I said, 'I…, I…' And he said, 'You turn on your television and the news comes on and you see us marching and peaceful, you see the peaceful civil disobedience, and you see the dogs and see the fire hoses, and we all know they cannot destroy us because we are there in the 23rd Century.'"

She shared the first interracial kiss on Star Trek, helped propel real life African American women into space-related careers, and looks divine in a mini skirt.

HOW DID UHURA WALK BACKWARDS SO FAR??? WOW!