#and were deeply devoted to each other in the worst ways?

[vexing-imogen]

forget another level, Raj and Elsie are taking monsterfucking to another goddamn dimension

[lilasamaaa]

Who says "I love you" first? Part One | F1 grid x Reader

Genre | Angst, Fluff.

Featuring | Alex Albon, Pierre Gasly, Lewis Hamilton, Charles Leclerc, Lando Norris, Esteban Ocon.

Word count | 1.9K

Warnings | Alcohol consumption, mentions of jealousy, car crash, "cheating" (if you squint).

Author's note | Part two will be coming soon and will feature Oscar Piastri, Daniel Ricciardo, George Russell, Carlos Sainz, Yuki Tsunoda and Max Verstappen :)

Alex Albon

He says it first.

For months, you had been preparing a huge project with your team at work. Months of hard work, sleepless nights, doubts, and anxieties. Even though you and Alex didn't live together and your job, along with his repeated travels had put your relationship to the test, he had been nothing but the perfect boyfriend during this time.

You were particularly moved one evening when, leaving your office past midnight, you'd stumbled upon a taxi patiently waiting outside the building, ready to take you home safely. And when you finally got back home, only to find a box from your favorite pizza place in front of your door. Alex was like that : deeply attentive. Caring. Devoted.

You had called your boyfriend on FaceTime, praying that he would already be awake on the other side of the world.

"Hey," had come his voice, still laced with sleep.

"Thank you so much for everything," you'd said, feeling tears welling up in your eyes from fatigue and emotion. "I had the worst day and this... this is so thoughtful. It makes everything better."

"Anything for you," Alex had replied. "I love you."

The words had come out so naturally that you'd almost dropped your phone as Alex yawned, still half asleep, not fully realizing what he'd said until your sudden silence alerted him.

"Oh, my god," he'd said, now fully awake. "That's not how I wanted to tell you."

"Well, I'm glad you did," you'd replied, tearing up again. "I love you too, you know."

Pierre Gasly

You say it first.

You'd joined Pierre in Milan for the weekend after several weeks without seeing each other. After spending nearly twenty-four hours holed up at his place under the covers, showing each other just how much you'd missed one another, the second day had been an opportunity to enjoy the Italian sun.

You had started the day with a fresh orange juice on a terrace facing the Duomo, before exploring the city, its museums, and its shops from top to bottom. The repeated absences of the driver were becoming harder to handle, and you had come to the conclusion, a few days before your departure to Milan, that you had fallen hopelessly in love with the Frenchman. At the end of your day as tourists, Pierre had invited you to dinner in a candlelit restaurant, and you'd almost blurted it all out between the main course and dessert.

Those little words that had been swirling in your head for a week.

In your previous relationships, you had never been the one to take that first step. You'd been too afraid of scaring away your partners. Of being laughed at. But you loved Pierre, you were so sure of it. And you were almost sure that he did, too. So, you had decided that for once, you'd take the lead. Just once.

After your romantic dinner, you were strolling through the city, slowly making your way back to his apartment, when you'd spotted a photo booth by the roadside. Pulling Pierre by the sleeve, you'd both settled inside, laughing, him sitting on the small worn-out stool, you on his lap. The first photo had caught both of you by surprise. But for the second one, you were ready. Just milliseconds before the flash illuminated your faces, you had said it.

"I love you."

Years later, the series of four photos was still on your fridge, and you loved looking at the last one. The one where he'd grabbed your face, pressing a kiss against your lips, whispering, "I love you, too."

Lewis Hamilton

You say it first.

Lewis had invited you to a photoshoot for the first time. What he hadn't specified, though (he would later swear he didn't know) was that the shoot was with his ex. And not just any ex, but the one he had been with just before you, that he hadn't seen since their breakup. The model with endless legs and hair like silk. The same girl you sometimes saw in the streets, printed on five-meter-high billboards, hanging from skyscrapers as if to taunt you.

Sitting on a chair, a coffee kindly offered by the photographer's assistant in hand, you were watching as the girl positioned her legs between your boyfriend's, tilting her head back, placing her hands on his chest. You'd never considered yourself a jealous girl. But there, you were absolutely boiling.

Each pose was worse than the last.

And each direction from the photographer was worse than the last. You weren't sure how many more "Closer, Lewis," or "Look more in love, Gigi" you could endure before you snapped and someone got hurt. Preferably her.

After a particularly close shot, their lips almost touching, you had suddenly risen, returning to the dressing rooms, mouth clenched and eyes shining. Lewis had followed you immediately, closing the dressing room door behind you, holding you close against his chest.

"That was too soon, I'm sorry," he had said, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"It'll always be too soon," you had replied, eyes glistening. "No one's strong enough to watch the person they love play happy couple with their ex". You hadn't realized your words then, but he had. Stroking your hair, he'd said "Good thing I'm in love with you and not her, then," making you fall even harder for him.

Charles Leclerc

He says it first.

If Charles had listened to himself, he would have told you he loved you within a week. He was that sure. Nothing he experienced with you felt familiar : not the way his heart raced when you looked at him through your lashes, nor the way you made him feel hot just by taking off your coat. His previous relationships had made him cautious, so the words slept quietly in his mind and on his tongue.

Even though he still blamed himself for making you worry so much, fate had it that the very first Grand Prix you attended was Monza, in 2020. The crash had been particularly violent, unexpected. The cameras hadn't missed a second of the spectacle unfolding in the paddock, zooming in on your horrified face, so scared of losing the one who had stolen your heart in just a few months. Years later, Charles still couldn't bear to see those images.

The following days had been quiet, Charles being ordered to rest and stay lying down as much as possible. One night, when you'd woken up alone in bed, you'd panicked before finding him in the living room, staring at his phone.

"What are you looking at?" you'd asked, sitting down next to him.

He had turned his phone towards you, showing a series of tweets featuring the sequence of you terrified after the accident.

"I hate knowing that I did that to you," he'd confessed, head low.

"Charles," you'd started, not sure how to put it. "As much as I hated witnessing this, you drive for a living. This probably won't be the only time I'm scared for you. I'm not planning on going anywhere, so... I'll have to get used to it."

The driver had looked at you, eyes filled with love, and the words had come naturally.

"I love you so much."

Lando Norris

He says it first.

Lando and you had... history.

You two had been friends since high school. He was the first boy you ever had a crush on. Not the little crush that makes you blush and stutter, no, the real deal. The kind that makes you fall asleep crying, wondering if that boy will ever look at you as anything other than a good friend. High school had ended without any progression in your relationship, and your paths had diverged. You'd gone to college on the other side of the country, seeing him only occasionally, as he was heavily involved in racing and you almost never went home. Your paths had crossed again at a New Year's Eve party hosted in your hometown by one of your mutual friends.

You were so happy to see him again after more than six months apart that you wouldn't let go of him, following him everywhere, mimicking his every move. You knew you shouldn't have followed Lando into that territory. That you shouldn't have drunk so much. But you had done it. And soon enough, you'd been pressed against a wall, the driver kissing you as if his life depended on it.

You were on cloud nine. Convinced that after years of hiding your feelings for him, Lando had understood, Lando felt the same way, Lando, Lando... But Lando had kissed another girl. Then another. You'd left the house in a hurry as everyone counted down to midnight, trying to put together the pieces of your broken heart on the way home.

You hadn't expected someone to knock on your parents' door at 6 a.m. the next day. Even less to find Lando behind it, hair tousled, dressed like the night before, with dark circles under his eyes. He'd been holding a sorry excuse of a bouquet in his hand. Flowers... From your own garden, you'd noticed, raising an eyebrow. Your mother would be so mad at him. You'd opened your mouth, ready to send him back home, but he'd been faster than you.

"I know you hate me, believe me, I hate myself too. But I have to say it or I'll regret it forever. I love you. And I'm so sorry that it took me kissing other girls to finally notice it. I don't want no one else... I only want you, if you'll have me."

Your friends had told you that you were stupid for forgiving him so easily, but you'd kissed him again. Six years later, lying against him on a tropical beach on your honeymoon, you knew you'd made the right choice that day.

Esteban Ocon

He says it first.

You hadn't been dating for long, a few months at best. One evening, though, he'd surprised you by pulling out the invitation to his cousin's wedding, asking if you'd like to accompany him.

Weddings are kind of sacred in your family. You don't just invite anyone, and you don't introduce just anyone to your entire family unless you're really serious about that person. Deep down, you were thrilled, trying not to freak out, reminding yourself that not everyone sees things the same way, and that for Esteban, this wedding might be an outing just like any other.

He'd come with you to choose a dress, finding the first one "so beautiful on you," the second one "absolutely stunning," the third one "breath-taking." You'd eventually realized that the driver wouldn't be of much help to you, fascinated by everything you'd worn. This alone should have told you everything you needed to know about the man's feelings, but you'd continued to doubt. Was this wedding as important to him as it was to you? Were you ready to meet his family?

The big day had finally come, and you were sure you'd have died of stress if Esteban hadn't held you by the waist the whole time, introducing you to everyone who'd passed by you two. His parents had seemed thrilled by your presence, showering you with compliments, emphasizing that it was the first time Esteban had invited a girl to a family event. It's important for him too, then, you'd thought.

The ceremony had passed, beautiful, and you'd found yourselves on the dance floor, swaying under blue and golden lights, lost in each other's eyes.

"I'm so glad everyone got to see how wonderful you are," he'd said, making your heart race. You thought he was done until he'd added, softly,

"I'm so glad I got to show everyone the woman I love."

[corruptedcaps]

Love of a good man

Jenny and Brad had been dating for nearly a year. While they had yet to be sexually intimate with one another they loved each other deeply. Brad had asked a few times but each time she shot him down saying she wasn’t ready. However she was ready and had been for sometime. Brad was handsome, athletic and everything she wanted in a man but she held a dark secret.

“Ok this is all gonna sound a little crazy but there has been a reason we haven’t had sex all this time and first off I just want to say that I am ready.” She said to him one night. He looked at her slightly worried but excited that they were finally going to make love.

“Ok here goes. A few years ago I was cursed by a witch. This curse gave life to a part of me that was... bad. You see every time I would have sex with someone I would change. A new me would come out and take over until the next time I had sex. This dark reflection of me ruined my life and every relationship I had. She is an evil, scheming, spoilt slut of a woman who lives to cause misery. She calls herself Natasha.” Jenny said looking sadly out the window.

“Natasha? As in your sister Natasha?” Brad asked dumbfounded. Jenny turned to look at him.

“I told you my sister lived to torture me. Well the truth is I have no sister. I am an only child but she does live to torture me. She transforms my good body into one devoted to pleasure. She is a big breasted vain conceited bitch and I wish I wasn’t stuck with her. The worst part is I don’t know what she does when she takes over! The last time she took over I was gone for months!” Jenny said on the verge of tears. Brad held her face in his strong hands.

“If she only comes out when you have sex then why do you want to have sex now?” He asked.

“Because there is a way to break the curse so that I can be free of her forever. If I have sex with my true love then it with eradicate the bad part of me. After a year together I know we are meant to be, that you are my true love.” Jenny said tears running down her face now. Brad pulled her tight into a hug. He held her and she felt safe. She pulled off his shirt and began kissing his perfect chest. She had wanted this for so long. She had to be certain otherwise she would lose another man to that bitch.

They stripped the clothes off each other like wild animals. They were both starved of each other but now they would finally feast. Jenny for the first time saw what Brad had packing and she was not disappointed.

His big cock slipped easily into her wet pussy and she nearly orgasmed right then and there. It felt incredible to be having sex again after so long and with one she loved so much.

“Oh Brad this feels so good, I knew you were my true love!” She groaned as she rode his cock. However his demeanour seemed to change, his thrusts becoming more aggressive.

“Oh shut up you fucking loser, thank god I won’t have to deal with you much longer.” He said coldly. Jenny’s eyes went wide.

“W-what are you saying? Wait! No! I can feel something. I need to stop…. Ooohhhh fuck but why fight it?” She moaned, her voice turning into a slutty purr for a moment. Brad grinned.

“Come out Natasha, it’s time to take over just like we planned.” He said pumping faster.

“Like you planned? Brad how could you do this? How could you be sooooo mmmm evil. Bad boys really turn me on! No! That’s Natasha, that’s not me!” Jenny groaned trying to fight it, trying to urge her body to get off Brad’s dick but it all felt too good. Then the changes began.

Her tits strained against her B size bra as they grew massive. Her chubby belly tightened and crunched in giving her a perfectly toned tummy.

“Mmmm much better, being a hawt sexy bitch is much better than being some nobody loser. No! This isn’t right, this is my body! Oh please dear YOU wish this could be your body!” She said fighting with the emerging Natasha as the changes continued.

Her bony behind grew extra layers of fat to give her a bubble butt which Brad appreciated as she slowly bounced up and down on him. Her short sensible hair grew down her back, becoming thick and full.

“Oh Brad my love I can feel her almost gone, then we can be together forever! That’s right Jenny, the true love curse works both ways, it’s just Brad happens to be mine and not yours.” Natasha said with a cackle as she felt Jenny slip away more with each second.

Long fake nails snapped onto her hands that she joyously ran down Brad’s chest. Her lips inflated into a bitchy pout and makeup covered her face finishing her transformation. However Jenny wasn’t gone yet, Natasha had to do one more thing to get rid of her.

“Oh fuck baby make me cum! I need to cum NOW! Ohhhhh fuuuuckkkkk yesssss!” She screamed at the top of her lungs as she orgasmed hard solidifying her dominance over Jenny’s body.

Collapsing onto the bed in orgasmic joy, Natasha could feel no part of Jenny still lingering.

“Was it good for you?” Brad said slyly.

“Life changing.” She replied with an evil giggle.

[whisperofthehxart]

Late Spring

1/?

Warnings: childhood friends and angst

Word Count: ~1200

In which you spend your childhood chasing after a boy and when he finally starts chasing after you.

You’re six years old when you meet the Itoshi family. Your families apparently having been long time friends but were separated as your parents took their careers abroad.

While conversation amongst the adults flows easily, your accented Japanese confuses the Itoshi brothers. Until finally you grow tired of trying and make your way away from the patio set in the backyard and walk towards the soccer ball in the grass. Though the black and white ball has certainly seen better days, it offers you the first chance at a connection with the two boys who finally seem to understand the terms and phrases you’re saying.

-

When you’re eight, the language barrier between the three of you no longer exists and the Itoshi brothers’ are your closest friends. You see Rin in school and on the weekends when Sae isn’t busy with his club sports, he teaches you to juggle alternatively with your feet and knees. In the end, all the practice is to no avail.

You’re always just slightly behind the two budding geniuses.  

-

At the age of ten, you watch every one of Rin’s games that you can make it too. You sit as close to field as possible, Rin’s parent and yours sitting some distance behind you as they too spectate.

On occasion Sae is beside you, taking mental notes of his brother’s performance and making small comments. At this point, everything he says makes sense. You might lack the physical skill to play the sport, but you understand gameplay as it unfolds before you.

When Rin’s team wins both of you are congratulating him. There’s a smile on each one of your faces.

-

One day, when you’re twelve, Sae just isn’t there anymore.

You’re left in the lurch, confused as to how it is exactly that such a close friend could have left and not told you.

Of course, now you know he’s gone off to play for a professional youth team in Spain.

Everything else remains the same. You still share classes with Rin, you hang out after school and see him at events between your families. Outside of school, his feet seem to be in constant contact with a ball dribbling as he listens to you talk, he occasionally asks you to repeat something.

“Promise you won’t ever leave like that.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing, never mind.”

-

When you’re fifteen, you and Rin go to different high schools. You somehow manage to make it to his games. And on the occasion that he doesn’t have practice he picks you up from school before you both walk together to the park.  

You no longer ask him to slow down, when he paces a few feet ahead of you (eager to arrive to the park where he can practice). Instead, you move faster to meet his steps, but still lagging behind.

Light conversation ensues about classes and upcoming movie releases. Promises are made to watch a psychological thriller that’s just come out together (even if it most likely won’t happen).

-

The New Year comes and goes and you spend less and less time with Rin.

He admits that in order to play the type of soccer that he and Sae promised to play, he needs more time without distractions.

You want to offer meeting him at the park instead of having him walk you, but your shot down before you can even try to get the words out.

“I think it’s best that it really be just me.”

-

Rin devotes himself entirely to soccer.

For three weeks your texts have been delivered and read without response.

The last time you spent this long without talking to Rin was when you were seven and he told you that your favorite soccer player was the worst striker ever. He’d been particularly harsh and made you cry with that statement. Back then your parents and teachers had been left deeply confused as to why the two of you refused to speak to each other.

The issue had only been resolved after Sae intervened.

“It doesn’t matter who your favorite striker is right now, cause I’ll be the next.”

With that a weeks’ worth of animosity that stood between you and Rin was ended by the desire to meet Sae on his level.

However, this situation is far different. There hasn’t been an actual argument between the two of you and the last time you spoke he’d been uncharacteristically kind by offering to treat you to a trip to your favorite bakery in a week’s time.

Out of desperation, you decide to brave the near winter weather and meet him at the park.

Yesterday’s snowfall decorates the path onto the field. Rin’s back is to you and he seems to be running his own drills, cones scattered throughout the field.

You study his form until there’s a break in his work, only then calling out his name.

There is no response and you continue to approach as he picks back up on practice.

You’re a few feet away now, but he continues to ignore you.

“Rin-chan, you haven’t answered my mess—”

“Stop.”

Despite the layers you’re wearing a chill runs down your spine, had he meant to be so cold?

A moment passes in silence.

You begin to feel your fingertips burn as they’re bitten by the air.

Rin turns in your direction not looking at you, but past you.

“I don’t need some mediocre extra trying to distract me.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

You feel your cheeks warm up and heels dig into the ground.

“Exactly what I said.”

The person you see before you is not Rin, it can’t be.

“Stop being such an ass, I came here to see if you were alright.”

He sneers at your words.

“You think I did any of it by accident? Take a hint.”

You feel the tears well up in your eyes.

Rin only continues, “What, you expect me to apologize?”

There’s a spite in his words you’ve never heard.

“You were going to find out eventually, might as well be now.”

Some part of you is trying not to laugh.

“Stop wasting my time.”

It finally comes out like a choked bark and you stare at the sky hoping the tears might stop.

“I don’t know why you’re acting like this, but don’t try to talk to me unless you’re apologizing.”

“Don’t hold your breath.”

By the time you get home, your cheeks are stained with tears and your hands have not stopped shaking.  

-

Your parents eventually learn to stop bringing up Rin.

You don’t actually see him until the following January, broadcasted on TV with the rest of Blue Lock team competing against the U-20. It’s the first time you see Sae since his last interviews in fall.

Something about it all pains you.

Rin is steps closer to his dream and the only thing you can bring yourself to do is change the channel.

-

At eighteen, when you’re packing away your childhood room before heading off to university, you come across a box of collected photos, player cards, and ticket stubs. When the first tear drops, you pack it all away and stuff it in the corner of your closet. Stacking everything else you reasonably could over it.

And as you sob for the first time since that fated day, you promise yourself it’ll be the last time you shed a tear over Itoshi Rin.

[tightjeansjavi]

Burning in a Hopeless Dream

Boston QZ: Part 13

“I can’t breathe”

Joel Miller x f!o/c

A/N: I couldn’t pick just one gif for this chapter 🫠 sorry, not sorry. Also, I support Joel Millers rights, and his wrongs.

Summary: 20 years have passed since out-break day. Joel hasn’t heard from his younger brother Tommy in 3 weeks. He’s terrified of the thought of losing the last member of his family. You’re afraid that you’re losing him entirely.

~word count: 5.8k~

Warnings: implied age gap, established relationship, so much fucking angst I’m so sorry. Swearing, mean! joel, protective! joel, dark! joel, possessive, joel!, violent actions have violent consequences! joel, fluff (if you squint and use a damn magnifying glass) gaslighting, arguing, brief mentions of death, graphic violence with a knife, feelings, emotions, anger, rage, (+18) minors dni !

Songs for this chapter:

“i can’t breathe” by Bea Miller

“Poison & Wine” by The Civil Wars

“exile” by T-Swift & Bon Iver

“As It Was” by Hozier

“Rage” by Samantha Margret

“I’m a Mess” by Ed Sheeran

“Feels Like We Only Go Backwards” by Tame Impala

“How to disappear” by Lana Del Ray

“Arms Of A Stranger” by Niall Horan

“Till Forever Falls Apart” by Ashe, FINNEAS

Year 2023. 20 years after out-break day : Boston QZ

Joel Miller always struggled dealing with loss of any kind. It started with losing Sarah. The grief, anger, anguish he felt in the last moments he had with her while she faded in his arms. He didn’t want to go on after that. What the fuck was the point when the world had fucking ripped his baby girl from his arms. He struggled with the possibility of losing you. Seeing you nearly bleed out on the kitchen table, his hands stained with your blood. It was too fucking much. If you would have died that night, surely he would meet his end shortly after. He knew the feeling all too well.

For the past two years, shit had been pretty sweet. Almost, too sweet. You refused to let yourself get caught up in the possibility of things going south with Joel. You wanted to live in every fucking moment you had with him. Carefree, happy, in love. You knew deep down that this wouldn’t last. You would have been naive if you believed nothing would ever come between you and Joel. The fucked up world you lived in, and the horrors that existed within, would always be there. Haunting you.

You trusted Joel with your life. He had given no reason for you to not put your full devotion into him. In more ways than one, you had saved each other. That trust mattered so fucking much to you. You were loyal to a fault. It was your fatal flaw.

Joel had been contacting his brother frequently. Tommy was the last of Joel’s blood and he would be damned if he would end up losing him too. Joel didn’t like when he felt like he had no control over a situation. It drove him up a fucking wall, devoured him skin and flesh till only his brittle bones were left. The fear of losing those he loved deeply, was constantly on his mind.

Joel had not heard from Tommy in three weeks. Three fucking weeks. He went and checked with the radio guy everyday. It was the same response of “we’re talking to the tower everyday. Nothing from Tommy.” This was not good enough for Joel. He needed to know that his younger brother was safe, that he was alive and well. Why the fuck wasn’t he responding? His mind instantly went to the worst possible outcome; Tommy being dead. It’s all he could think about.

Today with him he brought freshly rolled cigarettes, carefully tucked away in his coat pocket. He wanted answers, and he intended to get them, one way or another. He wasted no time to cut the line of other QZ residents waiting to send their message out. He didn’t care. He found himself with his elbow leaning over a rusted metal shelf. His patience was growing thin as he stood there, looming. He had a habit of playing with his fingers, picking at the dry skin around his cuticles, till they would crack and bleed. You had taken notice that he was doing this frequently now.

When it was finally his turn, he wasted no time to walk over. Plopping down into the chair with a thud as he reached into his jacket pocket and slid over the rolled cigarettes, his elbow resting along the worn wood.

“Nothin? Is there any chance it’s comin’in at night? You’re sleepin, you miss it?” Joel asked.

“When I’m sleeping, Gabriela listens, or my son.” The man spoke as he lit the cigarette, tossing the lighter to the side as he took a short inhale. The tip of the cigarette burning bright orange. “If Tommy responded, we’d know.”

Joel didn’t like the answers he was receiving. Not one fuckin bit. There had to be more information, there just had to be.

“And you’re talkin’ to the tower?”

“Every day, Joel.”

Bullshit is what he thought.

“They gave him your message, they haven’t seen or heard from him since, and that’s it.”

Lies.

“It’s been three fuckin weeks. It’s never taken Tommy more than a day to respond. Do you get that? Cause i’m startin’ to think that you ain’t seein’ the problem here.”

The man sighed, leaning forward as he held the cigarette off to the side, the smoke billowing upwards. “Joel, I'm sure Tommy is alright.”

“Show me where the tower is.”

“Joel, you can’t be serious. The tower is in Wyoming. You’re a capable guy, but there are worse things than infected out there.”

“You think I don’t fuckin realize that?” He scoffed. Crossing his arms over his chest, his jaw clenching tightly as he ground his teeth together.

“There are raiders, there’s slavers…” He trailed off.

“But you’re “sure” Tommy’s okay? Joel asked, his brow raised.

“It’s, uh, it’s the Cody tower…Q-bar 4, but I don’t know exactly–”

Joel was already up from his chair and leaving. He got the information he needed, now to devise a plan, leave the QZ, and find Tommy.

___________

Joel had no plan. No fuckin clue how he was going to get to Wyoming, but he would be damned if he didnt try. He was well aware that he wasn’t spending a lot of time with you these days. You both were working shit FEDRA jobs. Different hours, and by the time either of you would make it home, you both were too exhausted to speak.

You had known for the past few weeks that something was up with Joel. You didn’t want to pry, or make him feel like he had to tell you what was bothering him. You wanted him to come to you, tell you himself exactly what was going on. You couldn’t deny the fact that not knowing what was going on, was hurting you. It felt like he was purposely pushing you away. You didn't want to assume the worst of your lover, but it was hard not to when he was stumbling in hours past curfew, piss drunk. He would sleep with his back facing you. You wondered if this was exactly the way Tess had felt when she realized she was losing him.

You were barely sleeping most nights. Always waiting up for him, waiting for his return. You’d pretend to be asleep when the bed would dip down from his weight on it. You’d secretly pray that he’d wrap you up in his warm, strong arms finally. The moment never came and you felt so cold, so empty. You bottled it up, allowing it to devour you from the inside out.

One particular night, Joel had come stumbling in, a bottle of half drank whiskey in his grasp. He was high off something. Whatever pills he could get on. Pills that he had smuggled in for ration cards. He didn’t give a damn about his next meal. He just wanted to numb his feelings. Bury them so fuckin deep, that you, his sunlight, would never be able to reach them.

You could hear the sound of his keys clanking on the kitchen table. The front door locking shut. Then, his footsteps. His boots were heavy on the creaky floorboards. You heard his approach just outside the bedroom door, could hear his mumbling as he pushed it open, revealing your curled up form under the covers. The moonlight from the window casting a soft glow against your face. You looked beautiful, you always did.

You could hear his staggered, heavy steps. The bed dipped down beside you as he slowly sank down, the bottle of whiskey held between his knees as he leaned over and whispered, “you awake?”

You let out a sigh as you rolled over so you were facing him. Your eyes slowly fluttered open as you watched him bring the rim of the bottle to his lips, taking a long swig. “Am now.”

He was reaching for you immediately, tugging the covers that enclosed you from him.

“I need you baby, my sweet girl. Please, please, please.”

“Need to feel you.”

“Need to feel your skin on mine.”

“Please.”

“Please, baby. I’ll make you feel so fuckin good. I got you, you got me, Remember?”

He sounded half broken, teetering on the edge from the whiskey on his tongue, and the impending thoughts of losing the only person left in his blood family.

You sat up, grasping the covers between your fingers as he tried to tug them from your grasp.

“Joel, what’s wrong? What happened?” You spoke on the edge of caution given his intoxicated state.

“No. don’t wanna talk. Don’t wanna feel anythin ‘cept you.”

“Joel, you’re drunk and clearly upset over something–”

He cut you off. “M’sober enough to know that the only thing I want right now, is you. You gonna deny me that, sweet girl?” He slurred.

You found yourself at a loss for words. Your eyes focused on the bottle clutched his grasp, his knuckles turning white from the tight hold he had on the bottle. For a moment, you were afraid that it would shatter in his palm. He looked at you, his dark brown eyes glazed over, emotion swirling behind his darkened pupils. He brought the rim of the bottle up to his lips, taking another long swig as he stared through you. The look he gave you sent an un-welcomed chill down your spine.

You reached for the bottle, not wanting him to use liquor to cope with whatever it was that he was actively going through. You brought your hand around his wrist as you gently pried his fingers from the tight grasp they had on the bottle. He didn’t move to stop you as you took the bottle from him, placing it down on the nightstand, next to your knife, and far from his reach. You had kept the flower crown that you made him 2 years ago. The flowers were wilted and dried, but the memory remained. Alongside was the polaroid photo of you and Joel in the field of wildflowers. Now, just another distant memory.

“Enough of that, okay? I know the liquor is good. I know it helps, I know it brings you comfort, but you’re not gonna sit here and hide from me, okay? Please, Joel. Tell me what’s going on. Let me help you, please.”

“S’okay. Can just get another bottle. M’not gonna fight you. Love you too much to do somethin like that. Would be hurtin myself in the process, more than I already have.”

You were reaching for his face, gently sliding your warm palms around his cheeks. Your thumbs were lightly stroking the highest points of his cheek bones. He averted his eyes from your gaze then. He didn’t want you to see him like this. Anger started to simmer, bubble, blister in the pit of his stomach. You shouldn’t be taking care of him like this. He should be taking care of you. He was supposed to be the strong one, the tough one, the protector. Especially now. He didn't believe that he deserved your comfort, not now. Not when he was like this, a shell of a man.

“You don’t want me like this, honey? You don’t want me anymore?” He spoke with a low drawl, his words slurring together.

“Joel, don’t start with that. You damn well know that’s not true.”

“Then why can’t you give me what I want? I ain’t askin’ for much. Why can’t you give that to me? Why won’t you let me? You’re breakin’ my fuckin’ heart baby.”

“You’re drunk, Joel. I can fuckin taste the whiskey on your breath from here. I’m not gonna take advantage of you when you're in this state. Do you hear me? You deserve so much fuckin more than that.” You tried to coax him to look at you, dragging your fingers against his jaw, but he wouldn’t budge.

He scoffed under his breath, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “Since when has a little liquor stopped us, huh? Sweet girl, just tell me that you don’t want me anymore. S’okay, I can take it. I can handle it. Gotta leave this shit hole soon anyway.” He admitted.

“Those times were different Joel, and you know it.” You continued to gently hold his face, hoping that somehow you could get through to him. “Please stop saying that I don’t want you. That’s fuckin bull, and if you’re gonna act like a fuckin asshole right now–What’re you talking about leaving?”

“Tommy. I haven’t heard from Tommy in three fuckin weeks. He could be dead for all I know. He could be fuckin’ dead, and I ain’t gonna sit here and not do somethin’ about it. I found out that the radio tower is in Wyoming. I’m gonna trade some shit for a car battery, find a truck outside the QZ, and I'm gonna go find him.”

You let out a deep, slow sigh when Joel finally told you the reason why he was piss drunk and acting this way. Maybe you hadn’t lost him after all. Maybe, just maybe.

“You’re not going alone Joel. You’re not going to Wyoming by your fucking self. Don’t think for a second that i’m going to let you go on a suicide mission like that.”

Joel couldn’t help but let out a chuckle, his head dropping between your hands for a moment before he lifted it slightly to look up at you. “It ain’t your fuckin choice to make ‘darlin.” You’re not gonna stop me, and I ain’t leavin’ my fuckin’ brother out there Gwen. You just don’t fuckin get it, do you?” His tone was harsh, jagged and laced with venom. He placed his hands over your small ones and ripped them from his face as he staggered up from the bedside.

“I never said I was going to stop you Joel. All I said was that you’re not fucking going alone. The fuck do you mean I don’t get it? What don’t I understand?” Your heart clenched in on itself from how he was speaking to you. You felt like a cornered animal, fearful of what was to come next. Teeth bared, snarling, with fear stricken eyes.

“You ain’t have any family left to understand.” He knew he struck a nerve with you just by the way your face immediately fell. You were visibly taken aback. His words sliced through you, cutting your heart up into tiny pieces, piercing your lungs.

“Fuck you. How fucking dare you–” You paused with your hands balling up in fists at your sides. “I may not have any fucking family left Joel, but that doesn’t mean that you get to stand there and tell me that I don’t understand what you’re going through.”

His jaw clenched harshly through the soft, casting moonlight. His own hands were at his sides, balled up in fists. All he wanted was your comfort. He nearly begged for it, but you wouldn’t give in. Why wouldn’t you give in? Let him bury his feelings away, deep between your legs. Your denial etched deep into him, reaching the cavern of his heart. He’d never force you, never would dare harm you.

He never learned how to handle loss well. He found it so easy to slip back into his old patterns. They welcomed him in with tender touches, warm whispers, as darkness enclosed around his heart.

His boots were heavy on the creaky floorboards as he took a few steps towards you. He didn’t speak, and he refused to meet your eyes as he reached around you, snatching the bottle back up from the nightstand. For a brief moment, he thought about giving in. Apologizing for being so mean, so cruel. Allow himself to crumple in your lap, and soak his heavy tears against your chest.

He didn’t want that. He wanted to suffer through his feelings, alone.

“Joel..” Your voice was hesitant, timid, nervous. There were tears already threatening to spill over as you struggled to hold them at bay.

He didn’t say a word. Even as your hand reached out for his wrist, eyes pleading with him. He didn’t give in. He was already walking back to the open doorway, bringing the bottle up to his lips as he took another painful swig.

“Why are you doing this? Baby, why won’t you let me help you? Please…you don’t have to go through this alone. I got you, you got me, always. Remember?”

“M’sleepin on the couch.” He finally responded. “Want to be alone, and if you know what’s good for you, you won’t follow me.”

“Joel…”

“You fuckin deaf or somethin ‘darlin?” I said, leave.me.alone.”

Your emotions boiled over, tears blurring your vision as you reached for your knife on the nightstand. Gripping the familiar handle in your grasp. in one swift movement, you threw your knife at the door, purposely missing his head. The blade embedded into the worn, paint peeled door. The edge of the blade just barely grazed his ear, drawing blood from the thin skin. You had warm tears streaming down your cheekbones, your breaths heavy as Joel looked at you, stunned.

He reached his hand up, brushing his finger tip against his ear, feeling a cool wetness. He brought his finger down, observing the droplets of maroon against his skin. He chuckled, amusement in his tone.

“You missed.”

He yanked your knife from the door.

“It was on purpose Joel. You damn well know how good my aim is.”

He hummed lightly as he twirled the knife with ease. “You picture stickin’ me between the eyes when you threw it?”

“No. I imagined it nailing you in the fucking heart, you asshole.”

“Ouch. That really hurts, sweet girl.” He twirled it once more, looking at your broken, beautiful face. His presence was no longer looming in the doorway. He was gone.

You did not see Joel Miller for the next 4 days. You counted every single fucking one of them.

You waited up for him each night, praying he would come home, he didn’t. Night four you were worried something had happened to him. Your spiraling mind immediately goes to the worst possible outcome; Joel, dead in a ditch somewhere. Second outcome, he found someone else. Someone that wasn’t you. No. There was no fucking way he found someone. He would never. You kept telling yourself that neither outcome was true. It was hours past curfew, the streets were quiet as you packed your bag. Grabbing your spare knife, and pistol. You were wearing one of his flannels as you headed out into the darkness of night to find him.

________________

*one day prior*

Joel was pissed. (surprise, surprise). He was furious with himself, and you. Mostly himself, for being a goddamn fucking asshole. It was easy to continue to drink the pain away, numb all his feelings. Maybe he could consume so much fucking liquor, he could forget what your face looked like.

That was a laughable thought to have. You were unforgettable. Mother fucker, were you so goddamn unforgettable. The worst part? He was reminded of how cruel he was to you each time he looked down at your stupid fucking knife. The handle was well worn, but when he saw your initials carved into the thick wood, he lost it. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.

He needed something, someone, to let his anger explode out on.

All it took was two QZ residents to look at him the wrong way. Long enough that he didn’t even think of the consequences of his actions. Fuck the consequences. Fuck FEDRA, fuck the Firefly’s, fuck the infected, and fuck this world.

He followed the two suckers down an alley, hearing them laughing about god knows what. He recognized them. One of the fuckers had given Tess and Bea dirty looks for holding hands in the community center. The other? Had the hots for you. Unashamedly would check you out while you were working alongside Joel. Two excuses for human beings is all he saw as he crept down the alley. His footsteps were light, quiet, unheard.

He had only meant to teach them a lesson. Rough ‘em up a bit. Cuts, bruises, black eye maybe a broken wrist, or two. Then he heard the one guy say your name. Joel Miller was seeing red. These fuckers didn’t stand a chance. Your knife in his grasp as he spilled the filth of their crimson blood along the concrete.

It was a reckless decision, spur of the moment, and fueled by his rage. He would pay the brutal consequences of his actions, shortly after.

The tip of his knife was dripping with the congealed blood of his victims. His breaths, heavy and jagged as he came to his senses.

Too late.

“Fuck.”

Shouting, FEDRA soldiers, the wind whipping in his ears as he ran.

Had he left the crime scene quicker, he probably would have escaped. Not only was he out past curfew, but he had just brutally murdered two QZ residents. Whoops.

It didn’t take long for the FEDRA fucks to catch him, rough him up, and throw him in lockup. His life was spared simply for the fact that he had two of the soldiers wrapped around his finger, all because of a packet of pills.

The amount of liquor in his system numbed his pain receptors. He couldn’t feel shit as he was thrown into a cell.

___________

*present time*

You were incredibly cautious as you headed out onto the dark streets. You knew your decision to go looking for Joel past curfew, was a reckless one. Did you care? Not one fucking bit.

You flattened your back against a crumbling brick wall as two FEDRA soldiers passed, talking amongst each other.

“You know he doesn’t deserve to live, right? You saw what he did, man. There was so much fuckin blood.”

“He’ll get what’s coming for him eventually. If we kill him, who the hell is gonna keep getting us high?”

“Fair point.”

You were silent as their footsteps sounded further and further away. You knew they were talking about Joel; your Joel. You let out a soft breath as you crept from your hiding place. Joel had killed two people; fact. Joel was also alive, and that’s all you could think about now.

You knew exactly where Joel would be. So you waited outside the building, silently devising a plan for how you were going to bust him out of there, before FEDRA could change their mind.

Your silent thoughts were interrupted when you heard a heavy metal door creak open, the sound of a grunt, followed by a thud of a body hitting the concrete. You knew right away that it was Joel.

He was pulling himself up from the concrete, staggering to his feet and by his posture alone, you could tell he was in pain. “Motherfucker.” He grunted to himself.

You made your presence known as you appeared from behind the wall. He didn’t see you at first, but when he heard stray rocks crunching beneath boots, he was on high alert.

“Joel.”

He whipped around, nearly giving himself whiplash from the fast movement. Your voice was all too distinguishable.

“What in god’s fucking name are you doin’ out here?!” He was already walking towards you, his eyes locked on yours.

“Are you fuckin’ insane ‘darlin? Or are you just fuckin’ stupid?” He continued, waiting for you to flinch from his tone, or take a step back. You did neither.

“You tryin’ to get your ass thrown in lockup too?! Fuckin’ answer me Gwen!”

He was close enough now that you could see his split upper lip, ugly purple and blue bruising along his beautiful jaw, and his black eye. In a fury, you had grabbed his face in your palms gently, searching his eyes.

“Who the fuck did this to you?”

He was taken aback by your gentle touch, he expected you to be rough on him from the way he treated you, but you were the complete fucking opposite.

“Who fucking did this to you Joel?!” You harshly whispered.

He chuckled as he looked into your eyes, “FEDRA. Got thrown in lockup, obviously. Now answer me. What the fuck are you–”

You cut him off, ignoring his question. You knew the answer as to why he was thrown in lockup. You wanted to hear it from his own mouth, in his words.

“What the fuck did you do to get thrown in lockup?” You demanded.

He sneered at you. His face hurt from the movement but he didn’t care.

“Wouldn’t you like to know ‘darlin.”

You let go of his face and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, harshly yanking it.

“Yeah, cowboy. I would fuckin like to know.”

He leaned in, his breath hot on your face as he spoke, “killed a couple of fuckers with your knife. Felt fuckin good. Thought of you as their blood spilled out on the fuckin’ concrete. Thought of you the whole time baby.” He spat.

You didn’t even skip a fucking beat from his confession. You already knew the truth after all, and there was no reason for you to be shocked.

“Yeah? You thought of me? Did they deserve it?”

“Didn’t like the way they were lookin’ at me. Wanted to teach ‘em a lesson, and I got carried away. One of ‘em gave Beatrix a dirty look for holdin’ Tess’s hand a while back. The other? He had the hots for you. Always lookin’ at you, checkin’ you out. They both deserved it.”

“Y’know you can’t just go and kill people cause they looked at you the wrong way Joel.”

“I know, but I'd be lyin’ to your face if I told ya it didn’t feel good. They were scumbags, and they had it ‘comin.”

“Did you really have to go and kill them with my knife though?” You asked, your hands were still gripping the collar of his shirt tightly.

“Considerin’ you threw it at my fuckin’ head, yeah. Felt poetic.”

You let out a sigh, loosening your grip on him slightly, your anger was still simmering.

“You gonna’ answer my question now? Gonna’ tell me why in the hell you’re out here past fuckin’ curfew nonetheless?”

“You haven’t come home in 4 fuckin days Joel. I was worried that something had happened. That you were fucking dead in a goddamn ditch somewhere. I’m perfectly aware of the consequences of being out past curfew, Joel. I don’t care about the consequences. I just had to make sure that you were okay.”

He was in disbelief. His brows were furrowed in as you explained yourself.

“What’re you doin’ givin’ a fuck about me after the way I treated you, sweet girl. What is fuckin’ wrong with you? You shoulda’ been wishin’, prayin’ that I was dead.”

You laughed, your voice cracking slightly because how could this man be so fucking stupid?

“What makes you think that I wouldn’t care? You think that I can just erase you that easily, Joel? You think for a second that I wouldn’t fucking come looking for you?”

He opened his mouth to speak, no words were formed, he looked like a fucking blubbering fish.

“Save it. I don’t want to hear you say some bullshit about how I deserve better. I’m too good for you, blah blah blah. Fucking swallow those words right now Joel.”

He clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth together.

“Yes ma'am.” He whispered.

You wasted no time grabbing his hand, taking him back home, despite his protests.

The shower started shortly after you arrived home. Your movements were slow, gentle, careful as you removed his shirt from the hem. You found new scars blooming on his beautiful skin. Despite the fact that you were emotionally hurt by this man, you refused to let him suffer alone. You pressed a light kiss to his soft tummy, just above the navel.

“Baby Doll, what’re you–”

“Shuddup Joel.”

You tossed his shirt to the side before you undid his belt buckle, listening to the clanking of metal as you carefully shimmied his jeans down his legs with his boxers. You kept your gaze locked on his eyes as you discarded his clothes. You ignored the feeling of his hands along your waist, his own touch was delicate, comforting. You pushed his hands off of you as you gestured to the shower.

“Get in.”

“Gwen, please–”

“Get in the fucking shower Joel.”

He let out a pained sigh, bringing his hands down to his sides as he stepped under the cold stream of water. It felt like knives and needles stabbing into his back all at once.

You were already turning on your heel, attempting to leave till his hand reached out, wrapping around your wrist as he pulled you under the stream with him.

“Joel what the fuck are you doing–”

“Please. Please, darlin’ don’t go. Please, I'm sorry.” He begged, his tone rasping.

Your clothes were already being soaked through as he pulled you into his chest, holding you firmly against him.

“Please don’t leave me.”

You let out a sigh, slowly turning around in his arms so you were facing him.

“Apologies are not going to fix this Joel.”

“I know honey, I know. I promise I will make it up to you.”

You didn’t respond. Instead, you reached around him and grabbed what was left of the bar of soap. You gently wiped away the dirt, dried blood, and filth from his skin. You let him hold you, but you refused to fully give in. He was smart enough, respectful enough, to not try anything funny.

_________________

The nightmares started shortly after you brought Joel back home. Each night they got worse and it killed you inside to see him suffer like this. You were torn up. Joel had hurt you, you hurt him and it was beginning to feel like a vicious, endless cycle.

On this particular night, it was storming. The wind howled as the heavy rain pelted against the windows. Flashes of bright, white lighting struck against the black sky, and rumbles of thunder followed shortly after. You could hear Joel mumbling in his sleep, his back facing you. He mumbled Sarah’s name, Tommy. His tone was strained, pained. “You’re okay. Please, you’re okay. Move your hand, baby.” “Tommy, help me!” He was twitching under the covers, his body was trembling, there was cold sweat dripping down his bare back, chest, and forehead.

You wanted to pretend that you couldn’t hear his mumbles, his pained cries for his dead daughter and assumably alive brother. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block him out entirely, but you couldn’t. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t stop caring about this man.

You rolled over so you were facing his back and placed your hand between his shoulder blades. Your fingers splayed across his sweat soaked skin.

“Joel. Baby, wake up.” You whispered.

You received no response, even as you gently shook him.

“Joel. wake up, you’re having a nightmare. Wake up baby, it’s okay. I’m here. I’m here.”

You shook him once more, a little firmer this time and he suddenly shot up from under the covers. His eyes were wide, frantic as he looked around. His wild gaze finally landed on you. His chest was rising and falling harshly, his nostrils flared and he looked like he was in a daze.

“Joel. Hey, honey. It’s okay. You’re okay, you’re safe.”

He was reaching for you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he yanked you to his chest, pulling you into his lap.

Your thighs instinctively wrapped around his hips as you brought your hands up to his face, gently holding his cheeks in your warm palms, while his sweaty forehead rested against yours.

“Sarah..she–she. My baby girl–”

“I know baby..I'm sorry.” You gently stroked your thumbs against his cheekbones as his tears began to freely fall, his body still trembling under your gentle grasp.

“Tommy he–he.”

“He’s alive Joel. I promise you, he’s alive.”

“We don’t know. We–we don’t. He’s all I have left of my family. He’s the only one left.”

“I know he is Joel. I know, and I understand. You’re safe, and you don’t need to go through this alone. Okay? I know how you feel right now baby. I felt the same things you are feeling right now, after they died.”

He pulled back slightly, his brows furrowed in as he looked at you.

“Tell me how they died, please. I-I–want to know.”

“I had to kill them, Joel; My parents. It was just the three of us at one point. I was twenty. Came home one day, everything seemed normal. We were sitting around the dinner table and they were..something was off. They had this..this dead look in their eyes. They weren’t talking and then, I just knew. I fucking knew they were infected. I had no time to mourn Joel. They lunged at me and I took my knife, and killed them. Their only child, their only daughter, killed them. I left Michigan after that. Left the ranch, left my home, and never returned.”

Joel was at a loss for words. He could not even begin to fathom what you had gone through. He felt entirely guilty for saying that you couldn’t understand what he was going through. You knew his pain all too well. He held you as close as he physically could. His grip around your waist was firm, yet gentle. God, he felt terrible.

“Honey, baby, I'm so sorry..I’m so sorry that you had to go through that.”

“Joel, please do not feel sorry for me. Okay? I did what I had to do to survive. It was either me, or them. I was left with no other choice.”

“I don’t care, my sweet girl. You should have never had to go through that.”

“I endured it, Joel. I mourned, I moved on. Ran right into you. The point is, you shouldn’t feel alone. You don’t have to be, okay? Please don’t push me away. I know how easy it is to dig yourself into a hole, let the walls cave in. I know exactly what you’re feeling, and I am right here for you. I’m not going anywhere.”

“We have to do somethin’ I can’t just leave him out there Gwen.”

“I know. That’s why you and I are going to go look for Tommy, together. We’re gonna get that car battery, leave the QZ, and go to Wyoming. I’ll go anywhere with you. I got you, you got me, always.”

He took a deep breath, while he allowed your words, and the significance they held, wash over him.

He gave you a small nod, stroking his thumbs along the soft skin of your lower back.

“You got me, I got you, always.”

It was true, you’d follow Joel Miller, your fellow, your guy, anywhere.

Chapter 14:

[farfromstrange]

I was listening to False Gob by Taylor Swift and thinking very unholy thoughts about Matt Murdock. She really had to sing about blind faith, how the altar is her hips and they should worship that love.

Nonnie, you are onto something here. If we think about the religious imagery in this song, we already have a lot of symbolism that can be related to Matt. It's not solely sexual, it also portrays the kind of unconditional love he would have for his significant other. Being torn between what he wants and his faith in God. Being torn apart IN the relationship because of having blind faith in each other and blindly believing things are going to work out fine with the life he leads on the side because it's impossible not to get caught up with this.

But let's talk about the sexual aspects of this song instead and focus on Matty.

I have some thoughts about that too and as I'm listening to the song, the following scenario came to mind:

18+ under the cut! (TW: religious imagery and symbolism)

You tear each other apart before you put each other back together again. It's a taking and a giving, but it's usually him who takes and you who gives. You fight and you try to understand, and then you make up because living without each other seems impossible.

You jumped into this relationship with the hope of a happy ending, but with every passing day, life got significantly harder to navigate. You blindly believed that it would be easy, but nothing is ever easy when it comes to Matt.

But between the fights that often have you cursing him to hell, there is heaven in every single one of his touches. His lips write poetry on your skin and set your body alight with sensations you have never experienced before.

When you're together, you forget about the constant push-and-pull you find each other in. You forget that the same lips that are capturing each other in the most intimate embrace are capable of uttering words that hurt.

You shouldn't be together, but here you are.

Matt is a religious man, but whenever he is with you, he turns into a sinner of the highest order. The worst part is though, he doesn't mind. With you, he believes in a different God, one that goes beyond anything his catholic little heart should allow - you are the one he prays to, the one he worships, and if he requires punishment, he will kneel for you if you demand him to do so.

You were crazy to think that this would work out, but he would die for you, and he would die between your thighs, too. It's the one place he could never get tired of. He would rather be there than outside where the noise attacks his ears like a sledgehammer and the smell slowly kills him inside; his religion isn't God or Catholicism when you're together, it's your lips, your body, and your sweet, sweet nectar.

He worships at the altar of your hips, whether it is propped up on a bed or the kitchen table. He would do it anywhere if he only gets to hear you moan his name in such ecstasy. For you, he would keep going for years or centuries to come. If you asked him to go to hell with you, he would.

The struggles you're facing, you get away with it. You get away with the fact that the odds have never been in your favor because even though it may be hard, he loves with a devotion that can not be matched up to. He loves so deeply, you can feel him in every crevice of your being and soul, and he continues to worship you like an angel - you are his religion, his God, and the Bible he reads with his fingers as if your most sensitive parts were Braille, and then, when he's done, he will do it all over again if you only beg him to. And you very often do.

Your love comes in different shapes or forms, and you're not afraid to say it, but for Matt, it's hard. He tries to show you in other ways, even if it's just worshipping your body and soul, telling you how good you are, and you take it every time. You're his and he is unconditionally yours. It doesn't matter whether or not it is blind faith that binds you, or the fact Matt finds more enjoyment and redemption in you than in God himself. What matters is that he gets to worship you to show you just how much he loves you, and only when you wrap your thighs around his head as he tastes you, all of you, your, sweet, tears and arousal, he finds his way home.

No matter how long you are apart, he will always come back to you. You're a drug. He is blind in more ways than one, but so are you. But neither of you wants to stop because no matter how painful it is, pain is a powerful motivator.

So the next time he dives between your legs and he hears you moan softly, "Matthew!" He prays to you the way you do to him.

Matthew.

The way his name sounds on your lips is a beautiful symphony. You moan and writhe and he drinks up every last drop of the holy water you give him. You take him to your personal church, you sing for him and baptize him, and he can never get enough.

Matthew.

His fingers dig into your soft skin, sure to leave marks, and he does his due diligence for all the sins he committed, for all the times he hurt you, and the air between you grows less tense as you submit to the pleasure he is so willing to provide.

He spells his name with his tongue as you scream it, and his heart flutters with something other than dread. He devours you, and he shows you just how much he loves you. And in return, to offer him redemption and finally free him from the shackles that bind him.

"Matthew!" It's the last time you utter his name before your legs tense around his head and he gets to drown in your completely.

The world outside disappears; only the bells of your gospel remain.

He kisses the inside of your thigh as he kneels before you, his unfocused eyes searching for something, anything, and you touch his cheek as if to tell him you are here. You won't leave him.

"Such a good boy," you murmur.

"Forgive me," he finds himself whispering over and over again. "Forgive me..."

For he is a sinner and sinners never reach heaven, but in your eyes, in your world, he is already in paradise.

You tug at his cross necklace, clicking your tongue.

"Forgive me," he repeats.

Your voice is bittersweet in his ear as you guide him back to your aching core. He is eager to dive back in, and this time you don't hold back as you use him.

"Matthew," you moan, and then you finally tell him what he needs to hear.

"You're forgiven."

And as you come for what feels like the millionth time that night, you whisper a promise of doing the same to him. All night. And he takes the offer greedily, as long as he gets to worship at the altar of your hips some more.

[lullabyes22-blog]

Would there ever be a Silvika divorce AU?

Tw: dysfunctional relationships

It would take a very

very

very

VERY

huge deal for this pairing to have a divorce AU.

Not because they are super devoted in the lovey dovey sense, but because they both share similar natures that stay ruthlessly committed to a path to the bitter end. It's not about petty whims and childish desires - it's about the determination to see a cause through, to be connected to something bigger than yourself, to leave a lasting legacy that stands on solid ground.

It is about l o y a l t y.

And that loyalty will last, even if these two are barely on speaking terms, cannot stand to touch each other, and cannot be in the same room without seething.

In FnF, I always characterize Mel x Silco as that couple who, if they stopped having sex, would split by the year's end - not because they have little else in common but because physicality is their most surefire way of cutting through the noise and touching base. Without it, they'd succumb to their worst fears re: the other p. quick.

For Vander x Silco, if these two were at loggerheads, it would - and does - end in them killing each other, because in their differences, there is so much innate similarity that it ends up (literally) canceling each other out. This town ain't big enough for both of us immovable object vs unstoppable force etc etc...

Silco x Sevika, even if they were in disagreement over literally everything under the sun, are that pair who'd still be living under the same roof, still taking meals at the same table, and still speaking in terse tones about the family business, because it's about the endgame, not the bumps along the way.

(Naturally this is deeply unhealthy and leads to its own morass of suppressed resentments and bottled-up frustrations that would erupt eventually - either a year from now or a decade from now.)

At their worst, there is deeply whacked-out Gone Girl energy tying them together:

"I'm not a quitter, I'm that cunt. I killed for you; who else can say that? You think you'd be happy with a nice Midwestern girl? No way, baby. I'm it."

At their more redeemable, it is that classic Corinthians quote about agape:

"But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away."

Personally, I'd recommend marriage counseling...😬

[deludedfantasy]

Trimax Vol 10 Ch 1-4

Hey guys, how are we doing with volume 10? I had to go lie down on my bed face down multiple times while reading this so....that's how we're doing over here. A good chunk of this is me screaming incoherently. Apologies for the overuse of exclamation points and all caps. I'm deeply unwell about all of this.

Ch 1

Wolfwood's never ending belief in Vash just!!! Wolfwood is a man without faith. But not anymore; now he has faith in Vash.

As he reaffirms his beliefs, he remembers Vash telling him that he gives up hope too easily. Suddenly, now that I know a whole lot more about Wolfwood, that line hits differently. People have said it before but until now I didn’t get how cruel of a thing that was for Vash to say to Wolfwood. He couldn’t know the thing Wolfwood did out of a desperate hope to protect the orphanage. And look at him now, not sure if Vash can defeat Knives, but he has enough hope that he might be able to that he won’t stop fighting. 

Wolfwood won’t give up because Vash has never given up!!! He’s taken on so many of Vash’s ideals, I can’t deal with this. 

Razlo tries to stop Chapel from killing Wolfwood because of how Livio cares about him and I think it’s an interesting moment. It shows us that for all of Razlo’s insatiable bloodlust, he’s concerned with what Livio thinks. He’s certainly not eager to kill Wolfwood and that’s an interesting chink in his armor, since he’s never hesitated to kill anyone before, even if it’s just because he’s suggesting they drag out Wolfwood’s final moments longer. 

Sidenote: oh my fucking god, I’m an idiot. I’ve been making jokes about Wolfwood’s magically appearing handguns for volumes. He’s not pulling them out of his tits, he just has a shoulder holster, like a proper gunman. 

I wanna kill Chapel with my bare hands!!! He’s taking way too much pleasure from shooting Wolfwood over and over again. 

So, Wolfwood hasn’t used his vials because he doesn’t think he’s going to die yet. That’s…yeah, that’s making me feel some things alright. First of all, I’ll say it again, Wolfwood is an incredibly smart fighter. He knows how to fight even while injured and in immense amounts of pain. He couldn’t stand up against Razlo at first, but he took it as an opportunity to learn how Razlo fights and find his weakness, so he could use it against him later. Chapel tells Razlo to stop underestimating him, but I think up until now, Chapel has been doing the same damn thing. 

Second of all, I know where this is going and I :) don’t :) like :) it :) 

Ch 2

Sworn friend? I sure hope that’s Vash because that cover image is going to kill me. Wolfwood’s been STABBED. By a GUN. 

Oh, cool, so Razlo confirms that Chapel is unhealthily obsessed with his students and making them into the perfect weapons for the Eye—morally and physically. He’s truly the abusive father figure of this story.

Well, that explains why Razlo’s been kicked out of the Eye. Killing nine other members in a murder spree will do that.

You know what? Chapel begging for Razlo’s life to be spared might honestly be the kindest thing anyone has ever done for him. It’s no wonder he’s so devoted to Chapel. When everyone else treats you like shit, the guy who shoots himself and begs the council to take mercy on you becomes someone incredibly special, even if he is absolutely insane otherwise.

Huh? When did Ms. Melanie and the kids get outside? I thought they were locked in a cellar. Did some of the other mercenaries bring them up on Chapel’s signal so he could torment Wolfwood more.

Awww, the kids don’t want to leave Ms. Melanie by herself! They care about her and each other so much. This is where Wolfwood gets all his love and caring from. 

Chapel is an evil, evil motherfucker. We know that already, but this moment? Oh, the rage I’m experiencing. He’s playing on Wolfwood's worst nightmare, going all the way back to that dream he had where he tried to hold the kids but couldn’t because there was so much blood on his hands. Chapel went and made that real. He shows Wolfwood’s face to Ms. Melanie, while he’s covered in blood, and lets them know all the terrible things he’s done. Ms. Melanie doesn’t need to say anything. The guilt Wolfwood carries will be enough to bring him low. Chapel knows his student and his weakness so well, and he twists until it hurts. 

ARGH MS. MELANIE DON’T MAKE ME CRY. 

This is Wolfwood’s worst nightmare, but she’s not reacting with disgust or hatred! She isn’t looking away from him! The way she says, “You foolish boy, you tried doing everything on your own again.” It’s so sad, but it’s so fond. She still loves him! She wishes he’d come home earlier! It’s still a painful realization for Wolfwood to have, that he would’ve been welcomed back, but it’s also, maybe, a shock and a relief. 

Also, “You’ve always had so many stubborn ideals and were never one to compromise.” NICHOLAS D. WOLFWOOD THESIS STATEMENT RIGHT HERE. It’s what got him into this mess after all! 

Oh my god Wolfwood! No!!!! Don’t look down on yourself now!!! Ms. Melanie’s right! You  came when you were needed!

AND HE’S THINKING ABOUT VASH AGAIN.

When he’s losing hope, he always thinks of Vash. And he realizes that maybe he should’ve asked him here. Because they work so well together, they could’ve taken out Chapel and Livio and saved everyone! IF ONLY HE HADN’T INSISTED ON DOING EVERYTHING ON HIS OWN. 

“I made a friend. He ain’t as dumb as I am.” Wolfwood, I appreciate your whole-hearted belief in Vash but that man is just as stupid as you are and probably would’ve also run straight into danger without asking for help. You two are just peas in a pod. 

“We could’ve done this as a team.” Yes!!!! Because everything’s different when you’re back to back with him!!! Vash and Wolfwood are a battle couple and when they are together, they’re unstoppable. Wish you’d realized this sooner!!!!

Hey, did Wolfwood just grab all of Chapel’s vials with his mouth? Wolfwood is the king of making batshit insane moves in the span of like three seconds because that was a small opening he had before Chapel shot him or the kids.

A mysterious shuttle appears at the eleventh hour?

IT’S VASH!!! VASH CAME TO HELP HIM!!!

And look at Vash, using his powers to protect people! Not only that, to protect the people Wolfwood cares about!

Ch 3

Wolfwood, come on. You were just thinking about how you and Vash could’ve easily handled this as a team. 

Wolfwood’s self-hatred is blinding him so much he can’t even figure out why Vash would come. Just as Wolfwood considers Vash his friend, Vash thinks the same of him. He’s shown time and time again that he’ll help people in a tough spot. Why not you, Wolfwood? Why don’t you deserve that same kind of care? 

This battle is important to Wolfwood and that’s why it matters to Vash. But of course, the tragedy of it all is that Wolfwood can’t see how much Vash cares about him and admires him because he hates himself too much to even allow love in from someone else. 

And with that thought, it’s time to break out the tissues. 

Razlo’s like, “Ooooh, a worthy opponent? Time to absolutely lose my shit!” 

So, on my first read, I somehow didn’t catch that Wolfwood drank two vials at once when he stole Chapel’s pouch and I was VERY confused for the rest of this volume. Now, however, I’m rolling on the floor sobbing. 

He knows how dangerous this is and how it’ll probably end. But he does it because he thinks he’s going to die anyway. He’s come to the point where he’s not scared of death, and he’d rather go down protecting what he loves than live to see it ruined. 

“If we survive this, drinks are on me.” This line is some horrible foreshadowing, okay. I’m just…I think I need to go take some deep breaths. 

Did Wolfwood just toss Chapel like a log? That’s WILD. Razlo actually gets distracted by it! Then again, he’s so devoted to Chapel that the idea of him dying or being defeated must be pretty tough to deal with.

Wolfwood grabs Punisher again but also, he stops just long enough in the middle of battle to put his glasses back on. He’s hiding. From himself, from everyone at the orphanage, maybe even a little from Vash. He doesn’t want anyone to see what he’s about to become, what he’s about to do. 

There’s been a couple times where I’ve wondered if Vash could read Wolfwood’s mind a little with his telepathic Plant powers and this is another moment. But I actually like to read this as Vash knows him so well that he realizes this himself, because that just hits harder. 

OH. I missed that. Wolfwood killed Chapel. Snapped him like a twig even. 

Razlo is actually so…lonely. The only person who’s ever been kind to him was an equally unhinged cult leader and now he’s dead. And all Razlo knows is violence, so that’s how he responds. As always, Nightow makes me feel so much sympathy for what should be the most villainous of characters. (Except Chapel, that’s the exception that proves the rule here)

Vash and Wolfwood executing insane maneuvers when they fight together because they’re so synced up!!! Certified battle couple. 

Wolfwood lighting a cigarette in the middle of a fight after performing some insane moves is so on brand for him. 

This last interaction is so funny and so them. They don’t know how to use their words! They slap at each other like five year olds and Vash can’t even tell Wolfwood he’s here because he cares about him and wants to help. WHY ARE THEY SO STUPID.

Ch 4

Wolfwood is starting to talk like Vash. The reminiscing about times past, pushing away the help people are offering him—it reminds me of Vash right before he got on the Ark. 

It’s so not like him that it even scares Vash, who tries to remind him that has to live. He’s always wanted to live, right?

Well, except, Wolfwood has finally found what he’s willing to die for. He’s already made the decision. Vash just doesn’t know that yet, and that makes what would usually be a light, bantery scene between them incredibly heavy and so hard to read. 

And Vash, goddammit, he still thinks this is Wolfwood giving up! It’s not, at least not in the way he thinks. Wolfwood is more determined than ever. He hasn’t given up hope. He’s taken all his hope and placed it on Vash, and left none of it for himself. 

“What is important? What are you willing to do to protect it?” → Trigun thesis statement. That’s what the story is all about! The worst part is Vash realizing too late what he would do to protect Wolfwood. 

When Vash really, truly fears that he might lose Wolfwood, that’s the first time he realizes how much he needs and wants him. How badly he wants to survive and see a tomorrow with him. Except, it’s heart-wrenching, because it’s already too late by the time he finally realizes this. Vash has finally found something worth living for and Wolfwood has finally found something worth dying for. How ironic that it’s each other. They’re like ships passing in the night, their lives and wants intersecting for only the briefest of moments before being torn apart.

Just as Vash thinks all of this, he catches Wolfwood. Look how tightly he holds on to him, his fingers pressing into Wolfwood’s skin. He uses his body to shield him, barely noticing the blades in his shoulder. He’s so overcome by what he’s realized, but also that he’s about to lose it all.

Look at the reluctance when he lets go of him. He doesn’t want to, he wants to hold on to him. But Vash would never disrespect Wolfwood’s choices. He knows how much it means to him to be able to do this on his own terms. So no matter how much it hurts him, he lets go. But there is rage in his eyes, an expression that is so alien on Vash, who has always been so in control of his anger. He hates that he has to do this and he hates that it’s this that’s causing it, and he won’t hold back anymore. 

Not the bird symbolism. Because Wolfwood has finally found his freedom in his willingness to accept death.

And Vash beneath it, with his face obscured looking up into the sky, but hunched over beneath the weight of his grief and anguish as he walks away from Wolfwood. God, this image is so powerful. 

[adhd-merlin]

okay listen. arlance. arthur x lancelot. the sheer flavour is immaculate. the two bravest and most noble and most dedicated knights... kissing. a prince who pretended to be a commoner/an ordinary knight x a commoner who pretended to be a nobleman. arthur wishes he were as noble and pure of heart as lancelot, and lancelot wishes he were like arthur and of noble blood so he could serve camelot. the once and future king and the most devoted knight, who "wishes only to serve." the man who set out to close the veil and save camelot and the man who actually did it. they want each other as much as they want to be each other. they think the world of each other and the worst of themselves.

their love is courtly and romantic because they're both noble men who adhere to the knights' code. they share looks across the room, exchange pretty words, both too nervous to risk expressing their feelings in certain terms. arthur fears for uther's reaction and failing in his duty to camelot, and lancelot fears for burdening camelot and arthur with his love. they're both so repressed and yet wear their hearts on their sleeves and care so very deeply about those around them. they are kindred spirits and feel a deep rapport due to their similar natures and goals. they can communicate in a way that doesn't require words; just as well, because they so rarely truly express their feelings.

to arthur, lancelot is everything the knights' code stands for. to lancelot, arthur is the perfect man under which to serve. they idolise each other as saintly figures and secretly worship at the altar of the other. they see each other as truly deserving of happiness and will do anything in their power to deliver it to them.

okay to break the waxing of poetic, my favourite canon moments are just every interaction they have in 1x05. lancelot was arthur's bisexual awakening. the homoeroticism of their fights?? the way arthur trails the tip of his stick over lancelot's bare chest while tonguing his cheek when they fight in the streets? bro you're lucky lancelot thinks no one could ever love him COULD YOU BE MORE OBVIOUS??? the admiration arthur clearly has for lancelot after he beats him and becomes a knight, and when he kills the gryffin. arthur would fight his father tooth and nail to keep lancelot around. lancelot so clearly admires arthur and is willing to risk it all for him. i feel like arthur begins by just thirsting over lancelot, but by the time he's knighted, he truly likes him, and lancelot likes him back. not that they'd ever do anything about it. did you SEE arthur's expression when lancelot left? *bart simpson voice* you can actually pinpoint the second when his heart rips in half.

anyway arthur is in love with lancelot and wants to fuck him so bad but is far too guilty to act on any of it, especially the latter part. lancelot loves arthur as his liege and wishes to serve under him, and buries the part of himself that loves him as a person, too. they're a sad repressed duo how could anyone not love them.

tl;dr: arthur and lancelot want to crawl inside each other's skins and become each other and one being.

what a marvellous analysis, I've got nothing to add really

[arotechno]

November 2022 Carnival of Aros: Sentimentality

I am, perhaps ironically, a very sentimental person.

It’s a source of strife for me, as a nonpartnering aro. The prompt for this month suggested thinking about sentimentality in a romantic context, but I find that ironic—conflating sentimentality with romance isn’t something I want to do, at all. That belief, that there is no room for tenderness outside of romance, is the very thing that causes me such strife in the first place.

I’ve always been sentimental. I cried on my last day of elementary school because I was going to miss my bus driver. I’ve spent hours overcome with nostalgia for even the worst parts of my life, and waxing poetic about things that other people find meaningless. I’ve written love letters to friends like we were going off to war, even though we were going to see each other the very next day. I designed valentines each year for anyone who wanted them, I made my friends handmade cards and birthday gifts, I wrote a eulogy for my marching band career and cried when I realized I had grown apart from a very dear friend.

It’s never been about romance for me, or even love more broadly. It’s the kind of thing the world tries to beat out of you—the idea that even the most mundane things in our life should deserve to be treated with earnest tenderness and celebrated, rather than be met from an ironic distance, held at arm’s length. With platonic relationships, especially, we are taught as we grow older that such sentimentality should only be reserved for those we are romantically involved with, and that it isn’t appropriate anywhere else.

I’ve fallen victim to this in many ways, over the years. I have often been told that simple things are “not that deep”, that they do not deserve my nostalgia or my devotion. I’ve always rejected that, as I pride myself on caring deeply and openly about the things that move me, even if it makes others cringe.

But it’s harder when it comes to my friendships, as the guilt and shame I sometimes feel about being aromantic clouds my ability to express my feelings openly. I sometimes feel like my love is Too Much, or that I’m not feeling it or showing it right, or that it’s somehow overflowing and yet not enough all at the same time. I fear that my desire to treat my friends with the same unabashed devotion that one might reserve for their romantic partner will make them uncomfortable and drive them away, or send the wrong signals. It’s especially hard being non-partnering, as even in aromantic spaces many still conflate stronger or “deeper” feelings with a certain kind of partnership or a certain kind of love, and I’ve never been willing or able to categorize my feelings or my relationships with the people I care about in that type of way.

So I do not write love letters to my friends anymore, and I haven’t made valentines in years, and I don’t express my feelings like I maybe should. But I’m still a sentimental person; sometimes I look at my friends or my family or even a really beautiful sunset and am overcome with such a deep affection that I don’t know how to express anymore. So it all stays inside me, all stopped up with no place to go. And I’m not fond of that way of being.

I do think all of the people and places and things in our lives are worth getting sentimental over. It isn’t a crime to feel strongly, and I don’t think we should have to approach our own feelings from within a shroud of irony so as to seem cool or above it all. It’s fine if people aren’t sentimental, of course. We’re all entitled to our own way of interacting with the world. But I think we should be free to be sentimental about whatever and whoever we want, even if it makes other people cringe and roll their eyes.

I’m sentimental. I always will be, despite society’s efforts to purge it from me. I suppose it’s worth being proud of that, too.

[16magnolias]

Week 2 Day 1 - Lucía's Relationships: Childhood Family and Friends

For @encanto-extended-edition Week 2: Relationships!

(I realize I am late and it is no longer Day 1 but bear with me, lol)

🌟Note:  This post contains slight spoilers for an upcoming chapter (Chapter 39) of Just Your Ordinary, Everyday Miracle.  If you’re reading it and don’t want to know about José’s past until you read it in the story, skip this post for now.🌟

Family:

Father: José Hernandez 

Mother: Gabriela Hernandez - deceased

Siblings: Sofia Esperanza Rojas (sister) & Lorenzo Rojas (brother in law) 

Felipe Hernandez (brother) – deceased

Friends: Ana and Raquel

(Did I look up the pic of Tarzan's parents from the Disney movie as a reference for this drawing and for Gabriela? Yes. Yes I did. 😅)

So much of Lucía’s kindness and optimism stems from her relationships with her parents and sister and friends.

Originally from a town near Cali, Lucía’s parents Gabriela and José Hernandez fled from violence near their home and traveled from town to town for nearly a year.  They endured many hardships during their journey, but the loss of their two year old son, Felipe, was by far the worst. The eventually ended up in Alma and Pedro’s town.  They were both present the night the Encanto formed.   

José carried a lot of guilt with him about both the loss of his son and the fact that Pedro died to save them all.  José and Gabriela took several years to work through their guilt and grief as the Encanto was settled, clinging to each other and their faith to help them heal.  It wasn’t until nearly a decade later that they felt ready to try to grow their family again. Lucía was born 9 years after the Encanto formed and her sister Sofia was born 2 years after Lucía.  José and Gabriela saw their daughters as a tremendous blessing – a second chance to be parents.  They doted on their daughters and poured their hearts and lives into loving them and raising them to be kind, honest, and strong women.

Her father José, in particular, is deeply religious and devoted to his faith, and has done his best to practice what he preaches.  José Hernandez taught his daughters from a young age to love their neighbors as themselves, to share what they have, to help those in need, and to choose their words carefully, kindly, and truthfully when speaking to and about others.  As a printer in a time of unrest, he understands the power that words hold and has always taught his children to speak the truth and to use their words for good. 

Lucía’s younger sister, Sofia, is her opposite in many ways – Sofia is taller, thinner, louder, and more outspoken than her sister, and she’s also more adventurous and just generally busier, with 5 kids to raise and a stable to run. Growing up, Lucía preferred the adventures in books and stories to the adventures in the outside world. Sofia took to climbing trees and shimmying up poles at the ripe age of four. Where Lucía asked, Sofia commanded. Where Lucía hung back and observed, Sofia jumped in and took charge. Despite their differences, they’re very close, and have influenced each other’s personalities as they’ve aged. Lucía softened Sofia's bluntness and helped her sister to think before she speaks, and Sofia gave her older hermana a poke in the butt when she needed it and gave Lucía the confidence to step up and step in when needed.

Her mother Gabriela was kind and gentle and soft spoken, though she was not shy about sharing her opinions with that soft voice.  She was strict but fair. Lucía’s parents loved each other and their daughters deeply and her mother’s death when Lucía was in her early 30s hit them all hard.  Lucía was the strong one in that moment, helping her father and younger sister Sofia with their grief – so when Alejandro died, Lucía was unprepared for how deeply it affected her ability to function.

Lucía still lives with her father in the small home attached to their family shop, and he was instrumental in helping her navigate Alejandro’s death.  He is an excellent Abuelo to Josefina – to all of Sofia’s children, as well – and though he can be pedantic and borderline preachy at times, he always follows through on what he says and tries to do the right thing. Lucía regularly goes to him for advice on parenting and – once she realizes them - on her feelings about Bruno.

Friends:

Lucía’s best friends growing up were Ana (left) and Raquel (right). Ana is warm and sociable and loves to laugh.  Raquel appears cold and stand offish at first, often hiding behind dry, sarcastic comments and rarely revealing her emotions, but she truly cares about her friends and is easily hurt if she feels brushed off by them.

Ana’s family makes sweets, candy, and confectionary treats. Raquel’s family farms sugarcane.  The three grew up together and once they were old enough, were always hanging around the Rojas stables, watching Lucía’s little sister Sofia argue – and then flirt – with one of the Rojas boys, Lorenzo.  Ana was the first to marry and Lucía married Alejandro shortly after, and Raquel – while she enjoys making people squirm by flirting with them unexpectedly – has never settled down with anyone and is very content to stay that way. 

When Alejandro died, Ana and Raquel did their best to be there for Lucía, but Lucía’s grief and depression caused her to believe she was just a burden on her friends – their well-meaning questions and visits were just too hard for her.  She pushed them away and stopped responding to them when they would come to visit, choosing to stay in her room or excusing herself to ‘take care of Josefina’ until they left. She avoided them in the marketplace and at church.  Once she was recovered enough to realize what she’d done, she wanted to make amends but didn’t know where to start.

At the start of Just Your Ordinary, Everyday Miracle, Lucía still has a strong relationship with her family, but has a complicated relationship with the village.  Many people pity her, though their expression of that pity can sometimes be condescending or infantilizing. Some villagers judge her for her reaction to her husband’s death and the way she grieved; others are overly accommodating to make up for her losing her husband.  About a year after his death she began her storytimes at the shop again and began slowly reintegrating herself into society. 

Despite the pity most people regard her with, most parents in the Encanto like Lucía well enough and trust her with their children. The village generally respects her abilities and enthusiasm and trusts her intentions and it isn’t until after the miracle returns that one disgruntled parent causes a whole lot of problems for Lucía (and Bruno). 

[6thofapril1917]

maggie: 👁️🥞🌏🌌💡🎁📚🌠 (eye, pancake, earth, milky way, lightbulb, books, shooting star). and if you feel up to it, 1 question of your choosing for each of the mavens!! i want to know more about them :]

thank you so much!!! mwah

For Maggie:

👁️ EYE - what colour are their eyes? do people notice their eyes? is there anything special about them (shows emotion easily, literally magical...)?

Maggie has pale blue I'm-shaking-please-buy-her-brown-contacts eyes. They're not quite grey, but they're getting there. Most people make note of her eyes - they're the one sharp part of an otherwise quite soft and rounded face.

🥞 PANCAKE - what is their comfort breakfast?

In Maggie's eyes, you can't go wrong with some fresh-baked bread, sliced ham, and tea first thing in the morning.

🌏 EARTH - will they give up the world for someone they love? is this decision easy for them?

Absolutely. Maggie is nothing if not devoted. She'd give it some thought, it wouldn't necessarily be an instantaneous decision, but ultimately she'd do anything for the people she loves.

🌌 MILKY WAY - what was the inspiration behind your oc? what was the first thing you decided about them?

Honestly? I saw that little heart locket that Ken wears and thought "well, obviously SOMEONE'S picture has to go in there!" The first thing that I decided about her was that she would be on the ground crew, and that she would be from Detroit.

💡 LIGHTBULB - is your oc a planner? do they write down every small detail or just wing it?

On the whole, Maggie is a planner. She's not super type-A, she doesn't need to have every little thing written out, but she's definitely got an eye for detail. She can usually be coaxed into shenanigans, though.

🎁 PRESENT - what types of presents would they be most happy to receive? are they good at gift giving?

At this point, all Maggie wants is a goddamn day off. (With regards to gift giving, Maggie is quite observant, so she's good at sussing out what other people like.)

📚 BOOKS - how were they at school? what is their best subject? what is their worst subject? do they have a favourite subject?

Maggie was solidly average at school - she wasn't getting failing grades, but she certainly wasn't making the honor roll either. Her best subject was Math, and her worst subject was History. Her favorite subject was Physics - she loves machines, after all.

🌠 SHOOTING STAR - if they could make any wish with no repercussions, what wish would they make?

She would wish that Felix was still alive, and that Agnes had never gone missing.

For Loretta:

👊 PUNCH - are they quick to violence?

Yes, very much so. This got her into quite a bit of trouble back in grade school.

For Vee:

📸 CAMERA - do they enjoy having their picture taken? what's their go-to pose? do they like taking photos? what do they take photos of?

Vee loves taking photos. Photography is her main hobby, and she loves whipping out her camera whenever she gets the chance, taking photos of anyone who will let her. She's a damn good camera repairwoman, too. On the flip side, Vee hates having her own picture taken. She's never said it out loud, but it's obvious to anyone who has ever met her - she's deeply insecure about her height. (Fun fact: historically, Vee wouldn't have been able to join the Auxiliaries at all. At 6'1"/185 cm, she's too tall to qualify!)

For Mabel:

📖 OPEN BOOK - do they like reading? what's their favourite genre?

Absolutely loves reading - detective novels are her favorites. She's read every single Poirot and Miss Marple mystery at least twice over.

[salsakiyoomi]

Hiyo! congrats on the 1k followers!!

I'm usually a lurker and more active on twt but Ive been easing back into tumblr again to post fandom stuff, theres a niche corner on tumblr where I got comfy in and I happens to find/followed you there! I hope I'll be seeing ur posts around! I want to throw a hat in this event for fun! Thanks for the oppertunity!!

Fandom: Spiderverse/JJK Name: Gato ヾ(•ω•`) About myself: I'm a 5'2/ 160cm, Taurus/Capricorn rising, 24yo bi INTJ-T I'm 88% introverted and I work from home so I don't usually see the sun unless it breaks into my house. I love natural documentary videos and random analyzes videos on yt if they last more than 2 hours (play in bg while I'm working) My taste in music is whatever yt auto play next, I'll listen to J-Rock, Kpop, indie to folk but I will also work in complete silence for 8 hours straight if i forgot to put on anything. ( the grind dont stop )

I'm pretty easy going and I definitely know what I'm doing @ work, I love to show people the rope if needed. Anything kind of socialize outside my job, I'll run out of wits. I've never flirt my entire life and I won't start now ( I might be aroace but its debatable lol)

Ideal type: My type of guy and gal is definitely the no-nonsense one who tell me straight up what they want. I can't say I'll give them the same treatment tho I'm not always honest with myself :))) but I'm deeply devoted and I don't do anything half way.

It's very difficult for me not to challenge any kind of authority figure on sign, I'm allergic to condescending people. Still I find assertive people very……..hot!! (please pair me up with one, itll be so funny)

Season: whenever it rain! Summer, late autumn Favorite trope: Shared room! team up! Hurt/Comfort, maybe a truce? or 'we both stuck between a rock and each other and we might not get out alive'

HONEYMOON MATCHUP WITH : MIGUEL O'HARA

— honeymoon :

– miguel was an asshole, a certified one at that — your first day at hq wasn't very thrilling with him throwing you nasty looks left and right, the worst part is, he didn't actually say anything rude or mean to you, but he wasn't all that friendly either, so when you came up to him with a scowl on your face and demanding that he tells you why he keeps looking at you like you just spilled the milk over, he simply looked you up and down and said something along the lines of 'just get back to work' not really offering much context or explanation before leaving you to head back to his 'office' and from that day on, you were sworn enemies — you couldn't stand his authority figure persona and he couldn't stand your stubborn self because you never abided by his rules, so everyday was to you was a back and forth argument with him, and it didn't help that you'd get paired up with him for alot of missions — talk about bad luck.

– slowly but surely, the two of you eased up to eachother, yeah it took like nine months but it worked out — your arguments started to turn from actual heated conversations to more of a fun back and forth bickering — miguel would deny it any moment you or anyone would ask him about it, say something about how he thinks it's annoying but the small grin on his face when he talks to you doesn't go unnoticed, no matter how much he tries to hide it — yeah, he's a tough shell, closed off and repulsive but he isn't all that bad after all, at least that how you were starting to see him — like hey, he brought you empanadas from the cafeteria with him, he doesn't do that with anybody else.

– soon enough, it's been a year and a half since miguel has known you — you still don't really know him that much but you settled for a truce and you warmed up to eachother. the day came where your walls were broken down and the rain was pouring over your head, seemingly amplifying your bad mood because it felt like such a cliche for it to heavy pour on the day you felt at your worst — but you were soon shielded from the icy cold droplets when an umbrella came over your head, and surely enough it was miguel who was holding it, he threw you a glance, his face the usual blank expression he worse but his eyes were soft, he mumbled something about 'don't want you catching a cold, you have a mission tomorrow' and the rest of the walk to your place was in silence, not the heavy kind, miguel wasn't a talker after all, but you appreciated his presence — no matter how silent it was, it was still comforting.

what's on the radio : art deco, lana del rey

a/n : had to pair your up with miguel after you said you didn't like authority figures 😭 i like a good enemies to lovers — although it's more like office drama but whatever — THE NAME GATO IS SO CUTE I LOVE IT SHSJWJSK, and yes so true the grind don't stop 💪💪 must keep going no matter what's the circumstances are ✊✊ i love miguel sm too also look at the way he's lowkey pouting in the second pic he literally looks >:c ahhhwhee i wanna play with his cheeks 😭 tysm for the request gato, hope this did you justice i also really love your blog <33

[neonganymede]

Hey! I hope this is ok to ask about but I was curious about your original piece that you mention on occasion (cocat?). I'd like to know what it's about, or if you could share something you like about it or would want people to know.

I just really like your writing and I'm deeply curious about what an original work would look like from you :)

Hi!! Of course it's okay to ask!!! I'm always eager to talk about cocat!! Thank you for asking!! This book is my baby, and I'm >////< glad that somebody is curious about it!

Putting this under a read more just in case I ramble a little~

If I were to tag cocat (which spelled out is City of Crime and Teeth), it would fall under the twisted and fluffy category. The focal point of the novel is the relationship between Malise, an unwilling and listless crime boss who sees no way out of his current position other than his own inevitable death, and his husband Riot, a man he married the night they met who has plenty of his own dangerous secrets. They both have their shortcomings, with Malise not knowing how to deal with his emotions and Riot believing that he'll never have a place he can truly call home. Neither one have any idea how to navigate this strange relationship they find themselves in, but they both dig their teeth in the moment they meet. It's immediate, simultaneous obsession for the both of them, and they change each other indefinitely. Their relationship would be considered toxic for anybody else, but it works for them.

I really love writing emotion, and that's a big part of Malise's journey. He always thought that he couldn't feel things because he'd never been taught how, but he actually feels too much, especially in regards to Riot. Meeting Riot is like a burst of color in his otherwise bleak world, and he doesn't know what to do with all of these new things that he's feeling. It confuses the hell out of him, but he'd burn the world for Riot's sake.

And Riot is such a little shit, too. I adore him. He's lived the past ten years on the streets, so when he's suddenly a trophy wife (Malise's words and a definite point of contention between the two) Riot sure as hell takes advantage of that to indulge himself and spend as much of Malise's money as he can. And he's anything but a trophy wife. He's strong and lithe and fiercely devoted to his incredibly stupid and reckless husband. He thinks his situation is temporary; he thinks that Malise will eventually get bored and kill him, and Riot hates how much he ends up loving him.

Cocat is honestly a bit different from what I usually write, if I'm being honest. It's a little dark, a little angsty, but it's also about two incredibly broken people, two victims of circumstance who firmly believe they're only capable of cruelty and pain but have to learn how wrong they are.

Also featured in this mildly violent package: a found family consisting of these two married dumbasses, a pair of knife-wielding twins (one of which is trans, but neither one wants to tell me who it is. And frankly, it's none of my business), possibly the worst but most well-meaning secretary ever, and an ace lesbian who is easily the most unhinged character I've ever written (and easily my favorites. I love her so much).

So yeah! This got away from me a little, but I don't usually get to talk about cocat ^^; so thank you again for asking! And if you were ever interested, I posted a tiny drabble here~

[vickyvicarious]

Would you say Mina and Jonathan have some codependency? And, unlike Arthur and Lucy, did it get influenced by their being orphans and lower class?

I don't think so, no.

I think their behavior may certainly have been influenced by their background, a sort of "us against the world" mentality does seem possible to a slight degree, though by the time we meet them at the start of the book it's more just "we're a team" without any sense of the world being against them or whatever. (More just, they recognize the challenges they will face. Being realistic.)

But the thing is, their behavior is totally normal at first. They love one another deeply and their love drives them to achieve their goals, but they don't do anything unusual except work hard to do so. It's only thanks to Dracula that anything changes, and that still takes a lot of direct outside pressure.

What I was trying to verbalize in my meta to some degree is that while their motivations were in a sense selfish (because I love you it makes me happy to help you) all along, the outcome was usually either personal sacrifice or totally understandable behavior for most of the book. For example, almost anyone would have gone to their presumed dead fiance in the foreign hospital, since Lucy had her own support and wasn't that badly off at the time. They were 'selfish' in a way that hurt absolutely no one and was in fact usually very helpful. But when the Dracula attacks really kicked into gear, their desire to keep the other safe started to go against the other person's wishes and they began making their decisions independently in a way they hadn't really done before. This is where we got the divide from a 'selfish' motivation that they're united in and which harms no one, to each of them prioritizing their own individual desires and not consulting one another. This is where we get the vampire ultimatum at odds with one another (Mina: kill me. Jonathan: turn me). And those stated decisions seem to be selfless on Mina's part and selfish on Jonathan's in terms of effect (if those situations come about Mina reduces harm, Jonathan increases harm), but the core motivation is the same as it always was. Basically, their devotion to one another can turn darker but it's very situational (on an extreme situation).

Though their motives are selfish all along in the sense that it is their personal love for the other, it's usually in the "giving to charity makes me feel good so am I being dishonest?" way where the answer is obviously no, the result is doing good in the world. Their selfishness is not anything bad until we get to the vampire Mina question. They may always choose one another, but that's usually at the end of the day, not the drop of a hat, and in normal situations they're just a really dedicated couple. However, in this super-dire situation, their motivation stays the same and directs them to either extreme on the worst-case vampire question.

...Anyway, as regards codependency, that term is used typically for abusive and often one-sided relationships. The Merriam-Webster definition:

a psychological condition or a relationship in which a person manifesting low self-esteem and a strong desire for approval has an unhealthy attachment to another often controlling or manipulative person (such as a person with an addiction to alcohol or drugs)

And here is an article that lists some more signs of being codependent. JonMina are very dedicated to one another but they both can function very well apart. Their sense of self-esteem doesn't solely rest on one another, neither of them is truly any kind of dominant partner/they aren't unbalanced affection wise. I wouldn't call them codependent.

It's more that if the choice comes down to the wire, they pick their love for one another first. And again, the only time they get really unreasonable is when vampires ruin everything.

[mimine666]

Smut Cardio #4 please!

Well, it took me weeks to see the tag then months to remember I wrote it. lol A big thank you to @fracktastic to proof read it !

Her eyes were closed. She was playing with the soft hair of the chest against which her head rested. Laura felt content. She basked in the afterglow. His warm arms pulled her closer. It felt absolutely wonderful.  She felt tired, slackened. Satisfied even. Her train of thought stopped abruptly, surprising her. 

How could she feel satisfied if she didn’t.. She tried to dismiss the thought, chastising herself for being so … So what?! She had fought all her life for women’s rights and was a big believer in gender equity, in every aspect of life, and especially in the bedroom. And she had always gotten that equity and equality for herself. From all the men she had known, she’d had as many orgasms as they got. No, she was lying to herself. She’d had many more. She couldn’t remember a single time when she’d had sex and not reached orgasm. Richard used to tell her she was easy - Oh, how she hated it when he phrased it like that! But she’d had to recognize she was easier in that sense. Whether it was solo or accompanied, she had never struggled to find good, quick gratification.  

So why didn't it happen tonight? And why, despite the lack of orgasm did she feel so deeply satisfied. She sighed and Bill tightened his hold onto her. Because she did feel so So SO satisfied. The worst (or the better) part was that Bill was an incredible lover. He had taken his time igniting the fire, had gone out of his way to please her and make this moment memorable. But she hadn’t come. While she wasn’t physically frustrated, she was mentally. And she couldn’t pinpoint why exactly. 

“I can hear you thinking, Laura,” she heard in a low rumble underneath her right ear. “It was our first time, it’ll be better next time and when you’ll be more comfortable with me, you’ll come in no time.” he said with a chuckle. “Get some sleep.” 

Could it be that simple? If she were any other woman, she would think so. Practice makes perfect and a woman’s body is way more complicated than men’s. She knew most women didn’t climax easily. She remembered her friend Emilia from graduate school. They’d been so young back then. Emilia had seemed like a man eater, and they’d all teased her for that. She had such a crude and explicit way of speaking of sex that Laura never suspected that she might never have known the ultimate pleasure. 

On a drunken night, when She and Marcy were talking about the wonders of anal play, Emilia asked shyly "How do you know you had an orgasm?". It had been quite the wake up call for her. Years later, hearing Marcy tell her that after two children and nearly twenty years of love with her devoted husband, she couldn’t find a way to have an orgasm anymore, it shattered something else in her. She had never been very interested in the notion of love and marriage, but the idea that being in love and happy in a couple didn’t necessarily translate in the bedroom killed the idea for her. 

And here she was, in the arms of a man she knew she had deep feelings for, a man she respected, desired and really really liked. A man who in return respected her, had her well being at heart and who she was certain liked her in return. But with no orgasm after two hours of passionate love making. 

Love making. Oh. That was certainly one of the first times she referred in her mind to that as such. It wasn’t just sex and it was absolutely not fucking like it usually had been with Richard or any of the men she encountered in the past. She knew she was onto something. Usually, she had meaningless encounters with meaningless men. She looked for quick and easy satisfaction. With Bill, it was so much more. It had been a night of kissing before tonight. It had been months of getting to know each other, of mutual appreciation and of course attraction. It had been hours of caresses, of soft whispers and tenderness. It had not been about a quick release. It had been about connecting and being together in the most intimate way they could. It had been about them. And that was why she felt so very good and deeply satisfied. 

Because It had been all of that and so much more. She would always remember the night spent kissing. Just kissing and discovering each other in that so intimate way. The slow building up of a fire that nearly consumed her but left her so deeply satisfied to not have jumped to the carnal aspect head first. And she’ll always remember making love with him, his quarters illuminated by candles, the warm glow reflecting on his eyes, softening his gaze and his traits. She’d always remember how amazing it felt being cherished by Bill, how incredible foreplay could be with him. Kisses in her neck and all the way down to the junction of her thighs. Learning to take the time to discover his body too, to listen to what makes him take a sharp breath and how to make him giggle. 

And being one. Oh, how incredible it had been to feel him slowly, softly, carefully sink into her body, looking into his eyes, holding his strong amazing arms. To be one with him, to move as one with him. To kiss, to laugh and to share the same breath as the passion grew. How good it had felt to feel his passion grow, lose his rhythm and release his warm essence into her body. It had been a unique experience. 

She realized it may not have been a physical orgasm but it truly had been an emotional one.