#and yet we show once again we have learnt nothing

[izzymalec]

germany is like fyi if u haven't killed a palestinian child with ur own hands ur antisemitic :/

[i2sunric]

LOVE IS (NOT) EASY (l.hs)

summary: there was nothing you hated more than the smell of cigarettes and smokers. always acting as if they were above anything else. but just like persephone learnt how to love hades, then why couldn’t you learn how to love heeseung?

warnings: fingering, rough sex, chocking, gagging, unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy), blowjob, squirting, heeseung is toxic, heeseung smokes, reader hates cigarettes, situationship with benefits?, doggy, missionary, dirty talk, pet names (babe, baby, slut), lmk if more. (strangely) proofread.

published: 9th May 2024

wc: 3.5k

taglist: (permanent) @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @heelvsted @jwnghyuns (one shot) @slut4hee @ineedsomezzz @deobitifull @smisworld @mitmit01 @the-poetic-side-of-me @cha0thicpisces @heeseungsbitvh

Blasting music, almost at a deafening volume, blinding lights and the mixed smell of sweat and alcohol. That was how your birthday party was going on, all your friends and friends of friends filling the room, making the air heavy.

You kept smiling and greeting people you hadn’t even invited, accepting kind birthday wishes. You were in desperate need of fresh air but you were also trying to find Lee Heeseung.

Your relationship was rather complicated, if you had to be honest. You weren’t a couple, because Heeseung made it clear from the first day you met that he couldn’t afford love. But you also weren’t just nothing.

Whatever it was, he was supposed to show up at your birthday party— well, he actually did, he greeted you with the most false smile you could’ve ever see and then disappeared in thin air.

You knew he hated social gatherings, especially if it was with people outside his corrupted and not so safe group of friends, but you thought he’d at least celebrate with you.

You stumbled on your heels, making your way through the crowd until you finally reached the entrance of the room you rented and went outside.

The cold air hit your barely covered skin, the thin and tight dress you chose as an outfit doing nothing to cover you from the chilly weather.

It was when you focused on your surroundings that you noticed a pair of familiar broad shoulders covered in utterly familiar leather jacket.

You walked beside him and frowned when you noticed he was yet again smoking a cigarette, the bitter smell of it tickling your nostrils “Seriously?”

Heeseung rolled his eyes and took another long drag from his cigarette, "You look good tonight, babe."

You let out a small sigh, looking at him with a sharp stare. Heeseung wasn’t one to do things out of kindness, he was selfish and only did what he could to take advantage himself. You just hoped he’d listen to you once— But again, hope was not on your side. when it came to him.

“You promised you wouldn’t smoke today.” You stated, reminding him of your previous conversation.

He let out a groan, "You're impossible to make happy." He put out the cigarette and threw it on the ground, stepping on it, "There. You happy now?" He raised an eyebrow.

It wasn’t very nice to just throw the cigarette on the ground and leave it there, but you weren’t going to complain since his lungs would have less smoke in them.

“Come on, Hee.” You stepped in front of him, your height difference was clear that way “It’s my birthday, you said it was my gift.”

Heeseung let out another groan, "Don't pull that card on me. it doesn't work anymore." He mumbled and pulled you closer by the waist, "I didn't want to be here in the first place. We could have celebrated it alone and had a lot more fun together."

You wrapped your arms around his neck, your figures melting together “But I wanted to celebrate it with my friends too.”

"Well, I am better than them—“ He raised a brow, “They can’t satisfy you the way I do.”

Heeseung leaned down to kiss you, his tongue licking your bottom lip. He pulled away, "Don't forget it" He whispered on your lips but it came off as threatening.

“Oh, so now you’re better than them?” You asked, teasing him as you pulled your face away from his.

He pulled you back, his hand gripping onto your chin tightly, "I’ve always been. Who else would put up with your attitude?" He said with a cocky smirk.

You sighed, shaking your head “What attitude?” You mumbled, slightly offended.

Heeseung pulled harder on your chin so you looked up at him, "Look at you right now, always trying to make me mad." His voice was husky, sending shivers down your spine.

“But you like it?” You asked, your quiet voice going straight to his cock— however he couldn’t just steal you away from your party, could he?

Heeseung had a thing for toying with you, confusing you, leaving you just to claim you all over again. Cause no matter how much you acted like you hated him, you knew there was no going back from his game.

His fingers trailed down from your chin to your neck, squeezing the sides slightly, "You don’t know a damn thing abou what I like." He mumbled and leaned down to kiss you again.

He pulled away before you had the chance to respond, "Go inside. I’ll join you in a minute" He demanded.

You pointed a finger at his chest, wanting to sound threatening “No more cigs.”

Heeseung grabbed your hand and kissed it, "You know I can't make promises I don't intend to keep" He squeezed your hand.

"I'll see you inside" he smirked and walked away before you could give him another response.

“Heeseung!” You shouted, watching as he walked away. He didn’t even turn around, he just waved one of his hands and disappeared in the middle of the night; just like he always did.

You groaned, frustrated with him, but most of all with yourself, for always letting him lead you on. You just went back to your birthday party, now feeling ever worse than you were before.

You took a deep breath before entering the room, the smell of alcohol replacing the bitter one of cigarettes and Heeseung’s wood cologne.

You tried to enjoy your night but you couldn’t really, your mind always drifting to the bane of your existence who wore an under-washed leather jacket and always had a cigarette between his lips.

⟡

So called devil had the audacity to show his face again when you were already at home, after fixing all the mess your guests had made— which was huge and took you the whole night. Birds chirped outside, signalling it was already early morning and you couldn’t wait to just fall asleep in your bed.

You heard the overly familiar sound of your bedroom window opening and closing right away, signalling the presence of a new person inside your apartment.

You had just removed your heels and stood in the middle of the room, in front of Heeseung’s tall figure. His demeanour was a little more dishevelled and messy than it had been a few hours before; but you could still smell the odour of cigarettes on him. He saw the unamused look on your face and smirked before walking closer to you.

Heeseung grabbed your waist and kissed you, "Stop sulking." He mumbled against your lips.

You pushed his chest, obviously not doing any damage to him “Let go.” You said sternly.

He pushed you slightly against the wall, trapping you and leaning closer, "Stop acting like this. You're mad at me all the time. I’m sick and tired of coming home to a pissed off Y/N." He said and kissed you again, more roughly.

You kissed him back with the same passion, your lips crashing together, tongues intertwining.

“Stop making me mad, then.” You mumbled, your fingers grasping his dark hair.

"Everything I do makes you mad." Heeseung murmured and kissed all over your neck, biting down occasionally to leave marks, claiming you, “You’re never satisfied.”

You blindly removed his jacket and let it fall on the ground with a small thud. You clumsily tried to undo the buttons of his shirt, “Cause you never listen.”

Heeseung pushed off his shirt, letting it fall to the floor, "Stop picking fights with me, then." He mumbled, his lips trailing down from your neck to your chest as your palms wandered around his bare torso.

You let out head fall back on the wall, the rough touch of his lips on your skin sending butterflies in your stomach “Can’t.” You answered.

He gripped onto your thighs and lifted you up, making you straddle him. He moved your face to look at him, "Look at me."

You wrapped your arms around his neck to keep yourself from falling and looked into his eyes as he demanded.

His pupils were dilated from the tobacco and probably some other things you were too afraid to ask; still, they were beautiful.

Heeseung leaned forward to kiss you again, biting down on your bottom lip, both of you moaning when you tasted blood "Say my name." He mumbled against your lips.

“Heeseung,” You breathed out, moving your hips on the evident bulge you felt underneath your clothed core.

Heeseung carried you to the bed, laying you down underneath him, his lips still on yours, "Tell who you belong to.” His voice became almost commanding.

His figure hovered on yours, like a shadow covering all the light from your life— you were almost hypnotised by his deadly beauty “You, Hee.”

Heeseung lifted up your dress over your hips and looked up at you with a smirk, "That’s what I thought." He mumbled and left kisses along the lace of your underwear.

You let out a soft hum as his plump lips trailed kisses on your sensitive and burning skin. Your hand went against to grasp the back of his head, “I’m still m-mad at you.”

Your voice intended to sound threatening but it only came out as shaky and weak.

Heeseung pulled off your underwear and tossed it to the side, going back to leaving bite marks on your inner thighs, "Show me how mad you are, baby.” He mumbled against your skin, sending vibrations through your whole body.

He left a few bites in the same spots, marking them as his before he reached up and held your jaw, "Don’t pull me away." He said and leaned down to kiss you once again.

As easy as said if it wasn’t for his fingers that snuck to inside of you without you even realising until he started curling them to brush against your sensitive spot.

You gasped for air, but when you did he stopped moving his fingers. You knew he wanted to tease, drive you insane and make you beg— But who were you to disobey?

Heeseung held your chin in his grasp “Don’t fucking pull away.” He demanded again and pulled you into a make out session.

His fingers brushed against your gummy walls, at full speed without even leaving you time to adjust to the new intrusion.

Your mouth fell agape at the funny sensation building inside you and Heeseung took the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, moaning lowly when it met yours.

He reached down to unzip his jeans, "Can’t wait to make you forget all of the things I did." He mumbled against your lips.

Heeseung was quick to discard his jeans on the floor, somewhere unknown.

He leaned back, sitting on his knees. He grabbed your waist and positioned you in front of him, "You look so pretty like this, Y/N" He mumbled, staring down at you in only your bra and dress on top of your thighs.

You glanced back at him, your eyes hooded and full of lust. He removed his fingers from inside of you and he smirked at the sight of your face,

"You can't hide how bad you want me…” His hand trailing up your thighs and over your hips before reaching up to undo your bra.

He wrapped your underwear around your mouth, forcing you to keep silent and allowing him to use you the way he wanted.

Heeseung leaned down and looked at you, "Be quiet and pretty like you were made for.”

You let out a hum that felt more like a whimper, your slick pooling your thighs. Heeseung smirked satisfactorily and put two fingers back inside of you, rubbing your g-spot that he knew so well, making you muffle moan.

You tried to grip his arm when you felt the same funny sensation building inside your stomach but Heeseung never haltered his movements until you squirted all over the sheets and his abdomen.

Your body shook with overstimulation when his fingers kept thrusting inside your pussy, Heeseung cooed “Already? We haven’t even started.”

You shook your head, your eyes squeezing, whimpers leaving your mouths as if to beg him to stop.

Heeseung took your chin in his hands, his fingers digging inside your cheeks. He raised a brow and removed your bra from your mouth, throwing it to the side “Need that warm mouth around my cock, mh?”

With you still laying underneath him, he crawled until his clothed bulge was hovering on your face. You quickly complied and lowered his boxers, palming his hard tip, already leaking precum.

Heeseung wasted no time and fisted your hair, taking control of your head “Open your mouth.” He demanded and again, you gave him what he wanted.

As soon as you opened your mouth he bucked his hips, making you gag on his thick length.

Your gags only made him want to hear more, so he kept thrusting his hips, hitting the back of your throat “Fuck, feels so good.”

The warmth of your mouth hugging his cock and the drool dripping down your chin almost made him cum right away, so he had to slow down, making slow but deep thrusts.

You held his hips and started bobbing your head, hooling your cheeks, Heeseung chuckled at your devotion “Such a good girl for me, trained you to please me so well.”

You hummed, his cock vibrating in your mouth, making his head fall back.

He let go of your hair and thrusted a few more times, just enough to make you gag again before pulling out. You let out a deep breath, your whole chin and chest coated with drool.

He glanced down at you, looking just like the erotic dreams he had when he was a teenager, all messed up by him.

Heeseung bent down to kiss you, pulling you into a quick make out session. He then quickly discarded his boxers as well and moved back between your legs, spreading your thighs apart.

The cold air hitting your pussy made you clench around nothing “Oh baby, I’ll ruin you so bad.” He mumbled, licking a long strip from your wet pussy.

“Heeseung,” You gasped out, “Please.”

He shook his head “What did we say about words? You need to use them, come on, be a good girl and say what you want.”

“Please Hee…” You whined when his fingers brushed against your clit “Fuck me, Fuck me hard.”

Heeseung bit down his bottom lip and let out a mocking scowl “This slut can’t think without a cock to stretch her out?” He caressed your cheek, ever so tenderly before grasping your face, “You remember the safe word?”

Even in your hazy state you managed to nod, Heeseung’s eyes were dead serious. Despite his twisted desires, he would never accidentally hurt you during sex, or worse.

“Good, because I won’t hold back.” And with that, he wetted his shaft with your juices, pumping it a few times before entering you with a deep thrust.

You swallowed him whole as he bottomed out already, grasping the sheets underneath you at the sudden stretch, so good yet so painful.

You let out a small whimper, “Shh,” He cooed, fisting your hair to raise your head, making you look at where your bodies connected “Watch me stretch this pussy out.”

His thick length moved back and forth, appearing just to disappear back into you, the shadow of his bulge showing on your stomach, making both of you moan.

“Fuck baby, you feel so good around me.” Heeseung breathed out, letting go of your hair to cup your breasts, squeezing them.

His fingers played with your nipples, making you clench around him, your walls squeezing back around his cock.

“So sensitive?” He scowled, bending down to lick your tits as his thrusts reached a delicious rhythm, not too slow but not also too hard.

His scent mixing with sweat and your own sheets’ one was enough to drive you insane, your thoughts getting cloudy and you dropped your head back on the mattress.

Heeseung raised himself up and looked at your body, laid down so pretty underneath him. His gaze went to the dress still around your hips, “Wearing that dress at a party, you knew you’d make me mad, right?”

You shook your head, not even having the slightest energy to speak with the way his cock kept hitting your cervix, his movements becoming even more intense “All those men at the party were eye fucking you,” He groaned at his own statement, his eyes so dark, “Wanted to claim you, take you right there on the fucking gift table,” He slapped your breast “Showing them who you belong to.”

Your eyes were half lidded as you tried to open them “Only w-want you.” You replied, another moan escaping you with one particular deep thrust.

“You better,” His fingers trailed your jawline, his touch tender unlike what you were doing “Only I can fuck you like you want, treat you right, mh?”

You nodded again at his words, your hands grasping his shoulders to keep yourself steady “And you don’t want to know what’d happen if you ever let another man look in your direction.”

He tilted his head back gritting his teeth with a hiss. Your gaze was now on him as he stared back down at you with lustful satisfaction “You’re mine.”

The same sweet feeling built inside your stomach, making your eyes squeeze “Heeseung,” You breathed out.

“Want to cum?” He tsked, one hand going down to your clit to rub it as the other held your leg on his shoulder, “Cum, yes.” You managed to mumble.

Heeseung’s thrusts got deeper, faster, almost maniacally as you fell apart under him, your cum coating his dick.

You’d think he would at least slow his movements, helping you ride out of your orgasm but it was Heeseung you were talking about, and he kept rutting inside you, gripping your hips to help himself.

You tried to make him stop, weakly pushing his chest away. He took your wrists, yanking them away from his chest and holding them on the mattress, pinning you down “Fucking take what I give you.”

You were a whimpering mess, overstimulation making your body quiver underneath him, if it wasn’t for his strong grip you’d be all around the bed “Hee…” You managed to breathe out.

“Sh,” Heseeung ordered, letting go of your wrists to wrap one hand around your neck, squeezing it. The loss of oxygen made your eyes roll back, laying there for him to use, to own.

After a while, he got bored of missionary so he let go of your neck and turned you around, your ass up.

He spanked it, making you moan out at the pain. He inserted himself inside you again and gripped your hips, rutting his cock.

“T-too much.” You cried out, biting down the sheets, the pleasure being too much for your body.

“It’s not.” Heeseung said back, spanking your ass again before reaching for your head, holding it down on the mattress. The position was uncomfortable and you’d surely wake up with a sore neck the next day, but the thought of Heeseung using you for his own pleasure, fucking you like a flesh light.

“Take my fucking dick, baby.” You knew he was close when his breath got heavier, sweat dripping down from his neck to your back “You’re squeezing it so tight.”

He let go of your head and held you up, supporting your body weight so that your back was pressed against his chest, one hand grasping your tit as the other circled your sensitive bud.

You were a moaning mess, tears staining your cheeks and ruining the mascara you had put on.

Heeseung gave one final deep thrust before cumming inside you, his length twitching, load filling you up and at the same time the knot in your stomach snapped, making you cum for the second time of the night.

Heeseung kept pounding, slowly and deeply, fucking his cum back into you, kissing the neck he had marked before.

Both your breaths were heavy, and as he pulled out, you fell on the mattress right away, all your forces leaving your body.

You turned around, laying on your back. You felt the mix of your cum dripping down on your thighs and mattress but you didn’t even care— not at that moment.

Your eyes were so heavy, both from the lack of sleep and the draining sensation coming after sex.

Heeseung placed one pillow under your head and caressed your cheek with his thumb.

You thought you heard a faint “Happy birthday, love.” With a featherlight kiss on your forehead, but you weren’t sure if it was a dream or reality. What you were sure, though, was that when you opened your eyes again the only thing left of Heeseung was the smell of cigarettes and wood.

[letterstotheflre]

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐈𝐕𝐘 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐒 (𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐈’𝐌 𝐂𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔) || 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐋 𝐃𝐈𝐗𝐎𝐍

summary: it's his fault. daryl knows that. he should've realised sooner that he knew exactly what those mushroom's would do to you once you ate them.

cw: 18+ only. dark fic [ft. sex pollen, dubcon, mentions of previous noncon drugging (on daryl), outdoor sex, grinding, fingering, squirting]

a/n: soo here is my first big daryl fic! honestly, this might be my favourite fic i’ve ever written :3 it was very fun to write and somehow i really liked writing daryl dialogue/inner monologue (his accent is just so fun lol). once again, this was supposed to be a very feral smut fest and ended up having a lot of emotional moments and inner daryl turmoil </3 i still hope you like it :)) || also very unrelated side note, but i think “gold rush” by taylor fits the daryl in this fic v much (it’d be from his pov, not yours)

“Where d’ya think we should go next?” You ask Daryl around a mouthful of the lone rabbit he hunted earlier this afternoon.

Finding food is getting harder and harder, not to mention you’re running out of your water supply. It’s obvious you need to move your camp to a better area, preferably somewhere near a lake or river. The question is, where is that exactly?

Daryl shrugs, turning the rabbit leg between his dirty fingers around. He takes a rough bite. 

He doesn’t know, and to be honest, he doesn’t really care. Now that the prison fell and with the group scattered to the winds, he doesn’t have much hope for anything. He had gotten a little too comfortable there, his first mistake, and now look where it landed him. Had he learnt nothing from his first camp with Merle, then the camp in Atlanta, then the CDC, and finally the farm? He had enough experience under his belt to know that things always took a turn for the worse, especially when everything seemed safe and peaceful. Yet he still let his guard down. 

The thing is, the prison… the prison was different. It was well protected, with several feet of fence that kept the walkers far from the main building. They didn’t have to worry about any walkers creeping into their cells and taking a bite out of them in the middle of the night since they were able to clear their side of the prison in a matter of days. They had guns and ammo, food and water. Hershel and Carol even taught them how to take care of crops. Hell, they even got their hands on some cattle! They didn’t need to scavenge the woods for some meagre squirrels any more. 

Things were looking up. He had even started to think that maybe, just maybe, they could spend the rest of their lives there. But then the Governor showed up and everything went to shit. 

So now here he is. No Rick, no Carol. Alone once again. Well, not exactly alone– he had you for company. 

It’s not that he doesn’t like you– he likes you more than just a normal amount if he’s being honest with himself. It’s just that… you’re a dead girl walking. He doesn’t know how you’ve made it this far, and by all accounts you shouldn’t have. Before all this, before the virus and the walking dead, you were a preschool teacher. You had lived in the city your entire life, in a nice house located in a nice neighbourhood with nice parents. If he had to bet, he’d say you were even prom queen back in the day. 

There had been no need for you to learn how to hunt, scavenge, track, shoot a gun or even handle a knife. Daryl had been the one to teach you how to shoot a gun in the air, volunteering immediately when Rick brought the subject up and completely ignoring the amused, knowing smile on his friend’s face. 

If he focuses hard enough, he can still hear the sound of your happy laughter the first time you hit the center of the target. Can still feel your chest pressed to his in your celebratory hug. 

“Think I saw some train tracks a couple miles east yesterday. If the others saw ‘em too, they’re probably following them thinkin’ we’re doing the same,” you ramble on, not letting his lack of answer deter you. “Maybe we could find Rick or Maggie.” You lean forward so you can reach the mushrooms you picked up today, plop one and then another inside your awaiting mouth. 

Daryl watches as you chew, eyes judging. He had been adamant that you shouldn’t eat them, shouldn’t even touch them. 

“Stupid girl,” he growled, swatting your hand away from the cluster growing on the bark of a tree. “Didn’t ya mom tell ya not to touch things you never seen before?”

“Ain’t stupid,” you bristled at his tone. “I know these, they used to grow ‘rond some plants in the garden back home. Pretty sure mom put them in our soup ev’ry now and then.”

You don’t let his lack of answer deter you. “Think I saw some train tracks a 

Daryl kneeled beside you, broad right shoulder touching your left one, and examined them closely. He was sure he had never seen them before, not in the woods from his hometown nor in any of his hunting trips since the outbreak started. “Nah, these ain’t safe,” he concluded. 

“Yes, they are.”

“No”, he enunciated the word to make it as clear as possible. “They ain’t.” 

“Yes, they are,” you scowl and plush a couple from their roots. “I ain’t stupid nor useless. I know I can eat these.”

Daryl rolled his eyes. “If ya want to kill y’self just to prove a point then fine, be my fuckin’ guest,” he snarked. Then he got up and kept walking in silence, not even sparing you another glance. 

He shakes his head firmly. “Nah, no train tracks.”

“What? Why?” You ask, surprised. “It’s our best shot at findin’ the others!”

“Ain’t no one to find, girl. S’better if ya stop kiddin’ yourself.”

“How could you say that?!” You look at him like he’s a monster. Daryl clenches his jaw. “They’re our friends, our family! We can’t just give ‘em up for dead as soon as things go south! Not after everything!”

Daryl throws away the bone in his hand and looks at you with fury. Don’t you get it? Merle, Sophia, Andrea, Lori, T-Dog, Dale, the list goes on and on. You’re the only one he knows for sure he has left and he’ll be damned if he has to add your name to the list too because you want to search for ghosts. You are his responsibility now. His voice is loud when he says, “Yeah, we should! ‘Cause if you saw those tracks y’know what it means? Means other people saw ‘em too. Bad people. And if ya go ‘round there, lighting fires and singin’ those stupid kid songs you sing all day like you’re in a fuckin’ musical or some shit y’know what they’re gonna do? They’re gon’ kill ya, or worse. So drop the fuckin’ topic and finish yer dinner.”

There really is no room for argument. You drop your gaze to the floor and gulp down the lump in your throat, bringing your knees to your chest. Everything is silent for at least an hour, the only sounds coming from the crackling fire and Daryl’s chewing. 

And then you call his name. 

“Daryl?” Your voice is different; breathier, quieter. Almost like you can barely string the letters together. “I don’t feel very well.”

He’s on his feet in a second, the argument forgotten as soon as he heard your mumbled call. In three quick steps he’s standing in front of you. He kneels so you’re the same height and cups the side of your face. “Wha’s wrong?”

You blink sluggishly, revealing your dilated pupils, and lick your lips. “I don’t know,” you slur. Your breathing gets heavier. “I think– Oh God, I’m so hot,” you complain, almost ripping the zipper of your jacket in your haste to take it off. You throw it away like it’s made of molten lava. Before he can stop you, you take off your long sleeved shirt, leaving you in just a tank top, and lean back against the fallen tree trunk with a relieved sigh. 

It doesn’t make any sense, Daryl thinks. It’s almost winter in Georgia, you should be freezing, but there are no goosebumps littering your skin that might signal you are cold in any way. In fact, you’re even trying to roll your cargo pants up to relieve your legs from a nonexistent blistering heat. 

Daryl presses his hand to your forehead and is surprised to find it slick with sweat. “Y’re burning up,” he says, though he guesses you could probably already tell. He takes one of your arms and inspects it closely, looking for any wounds that could potentially be infected. “Where ya bit?”

You shake your head. “No, no. I didn’t see any walkers today.”

Your arms are in pristine condition, save for some sparse moles and freckles and a single healed scratch on your forearm he remembers you got from running around the woods so carelessly. There’s no sign of a bite or infected cut.

“Did ya get close to anyone sick back at the prison?” He knows it’s stupid to ask– everyone had taken their rounds of antibiotics to prevent another possible outbreak, and it’s also been a week since the prison fell. If you had been infected, you would’ve showed symptoms earlier on, but he doesn’t know what else to do.

“No, I was with Beth ‘n Judy.” Suddenly, you gasp in pain and clutch your lower stomach, pressing your thighs together. “Daryl, it hurts,” you whimper.

The pain in your voice breaks his heart. You look so small, curled up in a tight ball like a wounded animal. He brings you into his lap and shushes you, “I know, I know.” He rubs your back in an attempt to soothe you. “Just lemme think for a second, ‘kay? M’gonna fix ya.”

He wrecks his brain for a solution but keeps coming up blank. He doesn’t have any idea as to what the hell caused this– one second you were fine and then the other you were bending over in pain. Did you touch something? Eat something? Was the water contaminated? Did some poisonous plant graze your skin? Was the rabbit he killed infected and he didn’t notice? 

The tip of your nose tickles his neck as it moves from his collarbone up to his jaw, your rib cage expanding beneath his broad hand when you take a deep breath. He grunts at the strange sensation. “What are y’doin’, girl?”

Your hands curl around his shoulders, the leather of his vest crinkling beneath your tight grip. “You smell so good,” you mewl, taking in another whiff of his scent.

What the fuck.

He doesn’t know where the random compliment came from. He knows you have to be lying though– it’s been weeks since his last shower. His last one was five days before the prison fell and it wasn’t even a proper shower, just a scrub down with a rag, a bucket of water and some soap they found in the last supply run. That’s why he says, albeit a little disheartened, “Y’re talking nonsense.”

You shift in his lap, pressing your chests together and Daryl has to force himself not to react to the feeling of your boobs against his chest or to the movement of your wiggling hips over his crotch. “Am not, am not,” you babble, pressing small wet kisses to his neck and trailing your palms down his strong arm. “You– you smell so good. Feel so good. So big. I–” your breath hitches when you grind against him, relief morphing your previously pained features. “I need you, Daryl.”

His hands that were previously laying limp on either side of him are suddenly held by your softer, smaller ones and moved to your thighs. He drops his gaze, watches you control his hands. Up and down, up and down. The light coming from the fire illuminates the remnants of your dinner. You shift directions and now his hands are on your ass, forcing him to squeeze and grope as you keep grinding against him. 

He stares intently at the leftover mushrooms and all of a sudden he’s 23 years old and Merle’s laughing his ass off as Daryl finishes the dinner his older brother had insisted on cooking. He remembers now, the desperation clawing at his chest when the shrooms started making effect. Remembers how Merle dragged him to a club in the city and patted his back in encouragement. “Go wild, baby brother! Lord knows ya need this.”

Misery is heavy on his shoulders. He wants to throw up– he was wrong before. He did see those mushrooms before. He had eaten them and been under their control. And now you were suffering the same fate he had all those years ago. Because of him, because he failed to realise sooner. 

You move his hands up to your waist, your stomach, your breasts. He never wanted it to be like this. He had hoped, stupid as it was to dream about something other than mere survival, that if he ever got the courage to confess his feelings it’d be when everyone was safe again. When you didn’t have to sleep in tents and cars and pray to God he found any semblance of food. When you’d finally have a house, or a room, or at least a bed. 

He’d be soft with you, just like you were with him every day. 

Now, as you grind and moan above him in a lust filled rut, that dream will remain that. Just a dream. 

He tears his hands from your grip, one settling on one side of your hip and the other cradling your cheek. Heat emanates from your skin like you’re a furnace. Daryl leans forward, lips brushing yours as he promises, “M’gonna make it better. That okay?”

You’re not in the right state of mind but he still asks for any semblance of peace of mind. 

“Please,” you whimper, little crystal beads gathering on your waterline.

After months of pining, he finally closes the distance between you and presses your lips together in a firm kiss. Your mouth is soft and plain against his, trusting him enough to follow his every command as he devours you completely. He uses the hand on your hip to help you smooth down your otherwise stuttered grinding, drinking down every sweet little moan and gasp he elicits out of you. 

That’s what you are– sweet. Sweet to touch and taste and feel. Sweet even in the way you cling to him, use him to relieve the affliction between your legs he accidentally caused. 

Daryl holds you by the back of your neck, feels the warmth of your breath as you moan his name.  “More. I need more,” you cry. The tear tracks on your cheeks glimmer in the warm fire light. “M’so empty. Need you to fuck me. Please, please, please,” you beg like a broken record, forcing your fist into Daryl’s chest and twisting his heartstrings without mercy. 

“Don’t cry, doll face,” he rasps, brushing away your fresh wave of tears. You inhale shakily, leaning into his touch and nuzzling his palm like a touch starved kitten. Your hands tremble as you unbutton your jeans, struggling to pull them down from how sweaty you are and how sticky the insides of your thighs became. Daryl silences you every whine with a kiss and helps you pull them down to your shins, not willing to risk taking off both your shoes and pants completely in case you need to make a quick escape.

“I said I’s gonna fix ya and I am. Just need a couple minutes first.” You make another noise of complaint that turns into a relieved sigh when Daryl pulls your panties to the side and teases your folds with the tip of his fingers. “Need to get ya ready first. This all for me?” He asks, gathering all the slick dripping out of you. 

“Mhm,” you hum, eyes closed in bliss as he toys with you. You nudge your noses together. “Always for you, Daryl. Only you.”

You really need to stop playing with his feelings like that. You’re talking out of your ass, he tells himself, letting your desire and need for relief control your words. Still, it’s nice to hear. He can’t deny that. Maybe he can live in this fantasy bubble a little longer, at least until reality crashes down on you both and you have to come to terms with what happened and decide to never see him again. 

He circles your weeping hole, taunting you, then plunges a lone finger inside when you look like you’re ready to pounce on him. It’s easy, oh so easy, for him to slip in. He thought it would be harder, given the fact that he knew you haven’t slept with anyone since the apocalypse started. Not that he kept an eye on you or anything, he just happened to notice how your tent and cell were always silent, much like his. But you’re so wet that your cunt practically swallowed him right in.

You tap his shoulder needily, mouthing the word “more”, and bite your lip to stay quiet when he adds a second finger and then a third. You could cry from how happy you are right now. 

“That enough for ya, ya spoiled girl?” He scoffs, rubbing circles on your swollen clit with his thumb. 

You can only nod as he buries his fingers up to his knuckles, curling them and feeling the rough calluses as he prods inside you in search of your soft spot. When your loudest moan yet lets him know he found it, he abuses it, creating loud squelching noises that have him smiling. 

Euphoria sends a shiver down your spine and makes your entire body shake as you cum, a small stream of clear liquid hitting Daryl’s wrist and dripping down to his jeans. “Shit,” he whispers, amazed. 

He made you squirt.

Daryl’s still staring at his dripping wrist as you paw at him with a heaving chest, fingers curling around his brown plaid shirt. Your nails could nearly break the fabric. “You promised,” you sob. “You promised you’d fix it. That you’d fuck me. Don’t you want me?”

He tears his gaze away from the mess between your legs in shock. How could you ever think he doesn’t want you? When you’ve consumed his every waking thought and haunted his every dream. When the only thing he wanted to do when you looked at him with those glimmering eyes was to follow your every command word for word. When he didn’t want to just fuck you– he wanted to keep you safe and warm, wanted to make sure you’d never know hunger.

He grabs your jaw, fingers tightly pressing on your warm cheeks, and snarls. “Don’t ever think I don’t want ya.” He tugs you to him so he can kiss you, unbuckling his belt with one hand and pulling down the zipper of his jeans. Your own hand joins his and squirms under the rough fabric so you can take his cock out from behind his boxers. His jaw clenches at the feeling of your soft hand around him, so different from his own. Untouched by decades of manual work, protected by dutiful applications of hand creams (he's heard you tell Beth how dry your hands are now and how much you miss your favourite hand cream. He’s been looking for some on every supply run ever since).

He spreads all the wetness stuck to his fingers over his cock, his stomach doing a summersault when he sees you biting your lower lip in want. You guide him to your entrance, gasping in unison when the mushroom tip slips past your soaking wet folds. Slowly, you sink yourself down, Daryl mouthing at your neck as you get used to the thickness of his cock as it threatens to split you in half. 

“Relax,” Daryl grunts, the scruff covering his cheeks scratching at the tender skin of your cleavage. He goes back to playing with your clit, knowing it’ll allow the tension to leave your muscles and he’ll be able to push in the remaining two inches. 

Once he’s buried to the hilt, you take a shuddering breath in and slowly start to bounce. “Wanted this for so long,” you babble. “Wanted you, Daryl. A-And now you want me,” you smile, increasing the speed of your bouncing. You chant, “You want me, you want me, you want me.”

Daryl nods, teeth gritted as he feels you tighten around him, walls pulsing. You collapse on his chest, hips still grinding in search of any form of friction. With a firm and secure grip, he grabs your ass and uses it as leverage so he can pound you down on him. For once, he’s not worried about loud noises or stray walkers or even unknown strangers stumbling into the scene. No, he just worries about you and your sweet cunt keeping his cock warm; about your lips on his neck, your hands gripping his hair and your dulcet “uh uh uh’s” ringing in his ears as you cum for the second time.

He lifts you off of him just in time to shoot ropes of white all over his shirt, biting your neck to muffle his grunts of pleasure. For once in what seems like a lifetime, the walker infested woods are completely still, only both of your laboured breathing breaking the unusual silence. 

Until you speak in a meek voice and it’s like he’s suddenly doused in cold water. “Daryl?”

He drops his forehead to your clavicle and shuts his eyes tightly, heaving a sigh. This is it– the moment where he loses you, where you run away. Forever disgusted with him. Afraid of him for breaking your trust. 

After another beat of silence, you call his name again. “What happened?”

He straightens his back and rubs his face. He clears his throat. “It was the mushrooms,” he refuses to look at you as he explains the events of the night, unable to stomach the look of disgust he’s sure is all over your pretty face. “The ones you picked up today. I thought I didn’t know them but I did. They’re some kind of… aphrodisiac or some shit like that. Merle…” he trails off, skipping over the reason he knew about them in the first place. It doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. “Y’were feeling so sick ‘n those things… with the amount you ate they would’ve– they would’ve killed ya if I didn’t…”

“You saved me,” you state, cradling his face so that he can see you. His face is all scrunched up like he wants to cry and he hates himself for it– he has no right to feel like shit. He shakes his head. “You did. You saved me. I would’ve died if you didn’t do as I said, as I wanted you to.” You kiss his lips chastely. “Y’know, I meant what I said earlier. While we were…”

“Nah,” he scoffs. “Y’were just saying shit ‘cause of the drugs. S’okay, ya don’t have to worry ‘bout my feelings.”

“No,” you frown, disconcerted that he always seems to bring himself down without even realising it. “I meant it. I’ve wanted you for a while, since– since the CDC, actually. When we played that card game after dinner and ya helped me get to bed since I was too drunk to even stand.” You smile as you remember the feeling of his arm around your waist and the soft pat on your head once you were resting on the pillow. You tuck some strands of hair behind his ear and his throat dries. Shrugging, you say, “I just never thought you liked me that way.”

Daryl weighs his options, wonders if he should take a leap of faith or pretend he’s never thought of you that way. This is too much for him. He’s scared to bare his chest wide open only for you to dislike what’s inside. But then he sees the earnest look in your eye and behind it, the fear that he won’t say anything at all. 

“I do,” he gets out through the fist clutching his vocal chords. “Like you. Like that, I mean. I–” He shuts his eyes at how useless he’s with words (another reason why you deserve someone better than him). However, instead of rolling your eyes at him or making a derisive sound like he expected, you simply giggle at his uselessness, reaching for him once more. 

He lets you kiss him and touch him as much as you want. You trace his brow bone and cheekbones with the soft pads of your fingers, play with the ends of matted hair and twirl them around your index. When you yawn, he makes sure you have your top and jacket back on and lets you rest on his chest. He stretches his arm so he can reach his discarded crossbow and leaves it on his side. “C’mon, go to sleep. I’ll take first watch.”

pls reblog if u enjoyed it, it’ll make me twirl my hair and kick my feet :3

[onesidedradiostatic]

Honestly a part of me thinks that Alastor and Vox WERE really good friends and Alastor is in denial about how important Vox had been to him. Maybe that partially factors into him playing down how much Vox irritates him. And a part of me feels like his love of attention outweighs his annoyance at Vox, even now, since Vox is ALWAYS willing to give Alastor his undivided attention.

(prev post)

ACTUALLY ACTUALLY this connects back to this rb. like about alastor's need to sever emotional attachments, "Ah, an enjoyable collective to be around. I admit one could get accustomed." to ""Great Alastor, altruist, died for his friends"? Sorry to disappoint... That is not where this ends!" pipeline.

the juxtaposition of the vees' verse and alastor's verse being back to back. they're both villain verses, but one is a secure team (maybe a bit messy toxic and unhinged but. they're tight okay) whose members have one another to rely on, the other is a solo mental breakdown about having attachments, yet they both end about the need to eventually be in control and with evil laughter.

like I've seen this mentioned before but also alastor's part in stayed gone where he says "he'd be powerless without the other vees", he's making fun of vox for relying on others but at the same time it does speak volumes about his own view on seeing attachments as "relying on others", because in THIS department, vox has the fact that he's fine and secure having allies he can trust compared to alastor seeing it as a weakness.

we have like sooooo little information right now that anything goes, but I like the idea of alastor having thought of vox as a legitimate friend at least a little. made a post on that once even.

I also kind of like comparing it to like how alastor currently is with charlie/the hotel, like he started out spending time with him for entertainment but then he saw a semblance of sentiment and had to cut that out.

but at the same time I also like alastor stepping away because he started noticing things about vox he disliked (because like I've mentioned before, his insults in stayed gone seem to be legitimate jabs at vox's character/practices).

OR we could have it so that the initial falling out happened because alastor felt the need to cut out any risk of emotional attachments (and I want to STRESS that I see both of them being at fault in this situation, regardless of alastor's motives, vox couldn't take no for an answer and got pissy), but later on after they were split, he started to see parts of vox's attitude that he disliked, how much of a sellout he'd become and he thought in his mind that this only proved him right to cut him off, and so he learnt nothing, after all he was right to cut vox off so surely his idea of attachments being a weakness is completely and utterly correct right?

anyways idk if I got a bit off track here, but about alastor being in denial, I think to some level he would be simply because of him seeing attachments as a weakness. but at the same time he's the one who called vox "old pal" (albeit condescendingly) and vox was the one who got ultra super embarrassed about "he asked me to join his team" (of course this is framed in a mocking way, similarly to "he'd be powerless without the other vees", like "can you BELIEVE he wanted me to join him and start RELYING on him like how he relies on the other vees? HA! as if." but he's also not hiding the fact that they were at least on good enough terms for vox to want to ask him that, but then again he doesn't speak of sentiment on his own side, so it could easily just not count as a point against him downplaying it). but yeah um. I do think him downplaying shit is related to him hiding weaknesses, similarly to how he's always smiling. he downplays how much vox bothers him because showing so would be a weakness. which could also go into how he let that mask slip with lucifer but this post is getting LONG and others have pointed that out before.

and the other part, about alastor's love for attention outweighing his annoyance at vox? I mean I think both can be true, I do think he enjoys the attention he gets from vox's obsession but I do also think he does legitimately hate vox.

anyways this post got LONG sorry I ended up rambling about shit. tried to address contradictions with my past posts (which can happen a bit, cause sometimes my opinions change or there's multiple possibilities of something and I can see multiple of those possibilities even if they contradict one another). this is a long post so my brain is too lazy to read it over and proofread so sorry if it ends up being a mess ✌️

[endereies]

Fuck it - Matt Sturniolo - Part 8

Spotify playlist:

Summary: Fem!oc x Matt Sturniolo

Growing up with parents who make her feel isolated, what happens when she meets Matt. A person who introduces her to new people, new experiences and new feelings.

Authors notes:

sorry this took like two weeks to finish, school was stressing me out and i couldnt bring myself to write anything major sooo

Warnings: swearing, idfk at this point lol

Word count: 2074

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

“Is this something we are meant to do?”

“Fuck it.”

“Jesus Matt, what took you so lo- oh.” Chris turns to face me, meeting my exhausted expression as I rubbed my face. “Rough night?”

“Alyia and I were messaging all night; I think I slept…? Maybe an hour at best” My eyes immediately side eye Chris when I see him start to smirk at me. “Oh, shut up Chris. At least I’m talking to a girl”

“Nick is quick to stop our bickering by setting some food down in front of Chris and I, one by one. My body slumps down to the chair next to me, my head heavily hitting the pillow underneath me.

I raise an eyebrow to Nick, adjusting myself slowly in my seat.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t fucking burn it this time...” I smile to myself when I hear his sighs, tired of me bringing it up. Nick returns to the kitchen counter to get his own share of waffles, along with some syrup he had previously subsided for himself.

“So, what were you and Alyia chatting about?” Chris’s words emit around and mouth full of food, making me grimace before I think about my answer.

“Just, stuff I guess…nothing special.” An arm leans over my body to pick up a waffle that I then dip into some extra syrup that had dripped off.

“Don’t look at me like that Chris, I can fucking feel you staring.” I glare over to Chris, his eyes already staring into mine. “What…you meet a girl and suddenly you stay out late with her in random places that you wont even tell us about, and you stay up all night talking over the phone with her. You can’t tell me that’s not weird.

“That’s not weird.” I simply roll my eyes once he starts his typical mocking.

“You have to admit Matt, this is really uncommon for you, you don’t even do that with Nate half the time.” Nick shrugs his shoulders, keeping his gaze towards his food.

“Why do you encourage him, Nick…” I let a sigh brush pass my lips and roll my eyes.

Nick goes to speak again but the chime of my phone interrupts him.

Alyia🎸:

‘Hey Matt, are we still down for practice today?’

“Lemme guess, that’s Alyia” Instantly, Chris chimes in and I glare at him again. He instantly holds his hands up by his head in defence, standing up to take his plate to the kitchen. My phone chimes again and I pick it up to respond, I feel Nick’s eyes on me again, so I look at him. I nod my head reluctantly at him showing that Chris was right, not that I would admit that to him.

-

“Hey! Glad to know you came, I didn’t know if you would after the amount that I kept you up last night.” Her words see to mumble as her body becomes closed off to me.

“It’s fine, I’m just surprised that my parents or brothers yelled at me this morning for being awake so long.” A clear attempt at a joke is made yet her tight-lipped smile made me regret my choice of words. “Oh… sorry I didn’t mean to.”

“Don’t worry about it, Matt, I’m fairly used to their distancing at this point to be honest, I don’t want you to apologize for anything.” Her smile changes to one of sincerity, making me return it back.

“I just feel bad…you know?”

“Why?” The genuine curiosity confused me. “I have learnt to adapt to them; besides I have some pretty awesome people around me, I’m not in complete solitude.”

Her words linger in my brain, perhaps more than they should.

I’ve learnt to adapt to them.

It sounded too nonchalant for a sentence of high intensity. I had seen this happen multiple times now, especially around her mom. Only, I simply never wanted to pry. The night she stayed over for the first time, her mom called her. The contact’s name was a start, her full legal name was on show with no emojis or care. I thought it was odd but when the voices transferred and mingled over the phone it began a little too clear, no matter how hard she had tried to hide it. The mood swings when she was mentioned was one that I had grown unexpectedly familiar too. I had tried to avoid that topic whenever I could and luckily Nick and Chris hadn’t mentioned it either.

“Matt?”

“Huh? Oh, sorry…” My hand subconsciously rubs the back of neck before wrapping around the chain of my necklace. “What did you say?”

“I was just wondering if you wanted to try any of the songs we mentioned last night.”

-

I couldn’t shake this morning all that well, I didn’t know why either. She wasn’t saying anything in a way to make me question it. I didn’t even know the entire story, but I knew enough.

“Uhm, excuse me? You’re Matthew, right?” A steady voice came from beside me as I walked, dragging me from my thoughts. My body turns to face where the sound comes from, and I notice a boy about my age walking by my side.

“Yeah? Can I help you.” I slow my pace down to a more comfortable pace and I pay attention to him, the slight smile below the glasses which round his face, the darker skin matching his black hair which was tied into loose dreads. He wore a lot of leather, patched with badges and band logos which for the most part were recognisable to me.

“Actually yeah, were you the one who played drums at the talent show two or so months ago?”

“With Damien, Jess and Martha? I was, why?” I get intrigued the more I listen to his voice and the rasps that emit every few words.

“Miss Ackley has been putting together some type of music club shit, after school! She asked a few of us to get together some people who might be interested in joining a band or any form of music club to enhance skill.” His words ramble together, and I try and comprehend them as best as I can.

“Like a band camp?” My eyebrow raises at him, and we pause when I reach my locker, trying to show my interest while putting the pin for it in.

“Sorta, we are planning a ‘band camp’ trip for the end of the year but for now it’s a space to form bands and people to adapt our skill sets in.” He can tell I’m hesitant over this, I mean this is what I have Alyia for, right?

“We aren’t looking for any answers today, simply that you consider it. And if it isn’t your ideal situation, then you could share this to anyone who might be interested.” A flyer stands between me and the boy, decorated in deep yellows and blues spreading behind multiple instruments and equipment.

“I’ll have a look into that, thanks.”

“Of course, if you have any questions about it, my number is at the bottom of that sheet.” He beams at me, and I just look down to find the number, taking my time since my lack of sleep affects my vision.

After that he walks away with a small wave from his wrist, but my gaze heavily remains on the paper in my hand. Everything seems manually drawn to match each other and I admire the colours and patterns before my eyes trace the text. My body walks forward towards the music room, letting muscle memory take over while I keep reading over things. After a paragraph or so I look at the number again and notice a name marked next to it – Benjamin.

My hand reaches the door handle and I push it open to meet Alyia. Her hands tracing over each string gently to produce a small hum, barely audible from her headphones. I stand there for a bit watching her play, she just seemed so relaxed but that could just be the lack of sleep. The small hair stands which fall slowly don’t seem to bother her as she keeps strumming softly.

“Are you going to keep staring or what” her voice grabs my attention even though her body doesn’t change position until her sentence is over.

“Oh, uhm sorry.” I mutter before swiftly moving and shutting the door behind me, placing my bag next to the leather seats.

“Have you been handed one of these yet?” I lay the sheet onto the seat next to her and watch as she stops playing and sets down her guitar. Her headphones now rest on her neck as she scans the paper.

“What is this?” She shoots a confused look at me, but I try not to pay too much attention to it.

“Just read it and find out…” I playfully roll my eyes at Alyia and move to sit over by my drum kit.

“Band camp? That’s some corny shit, don’t tell me you’re going to that ‘camp rock’ shit.” She tries to joke but her face falters when I don’t reciprocate her smile.

“Actually, I was…and it’s not ‘camp rock’. It’s a social place to help practice with other people, and then a summer camp at the end of the year to go and meet professionals and go to a festival to perform.”

“Oh...my bad.” A brief and awkward silence falls over us until I decide to speak again.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to join me but…” I swing side to side on my chair as my voice dims down.

“Matt, I don’t like crowds and besides I practice solo. This isn’t something I am exactly interested in.”

“You practice with me fine enough?” I try and convince her a little, but she only rolls her eyes at me.

“You’re different, you know that.” She pauses abruptly to stare me noticing my immediate smile. “Don’t let that get your head.”

“Too late for that.” I remain smirking at her, but Alyia just glares at me back, I move past that pretty quick and relax my body down on my seat.

“C’mon” I drag out the syllables as I talk, getting up to stand in front of her. “It could be real fun, extra practice between us…and other people of course.”

“Okay. Don’t say it like that first of all.” Her voice quiets after her words and I attempt to gain her attention back with a slight wave of my hand.

“And second?” my face relaxes from its previous smile and changes to a more curious one.

“Second of all…I’ll think about it…” Alyia’s words soften and are quiet due to her admission.

“Yes!” my stupid smile is met with her own as I jump from my seat and pick up the information sheet by her side and start to ramble through the text.

Alyia pov:

I don’t even know why I had given in to matt so easily, but I guess I just didn’t want to let him down. He seemed so excited and yet I wasn’t, I can’t remember the last time I ever played music in front of anyone, except Matt. The more he rambled next to me, the less of his words I remembered. I heard his voice clearly, but I was internally planning what situations might arise if I did show up. It didn’t seem like a lot but as someone who has been separated from people most of their life, this was a big deal.

The bell rang and made both Matt and I jump at the sudden sound that echoed through the hallways.

Matt grabs a few of his things and places them back into his bag and slides the sheet back over to rest next to my leg.

“Promise me you’ll consider it? At least…” his eyes stare into mine, almost begging me to think about it, as if he can’t handle his own in a small crowd of people.

“Fine. Only because you asked me alright?” I stand up and swing my bag over my shoulder.

“Thanks, sweetheart.” The nickname catches me off guard, like it has every other time, and he smiles at the shocked expression on my face and walks away quickly.

My body stays still in its position for a short while longer, processing the nickname. He hasn’t done it without some sort of comforting context to it and this was different.

And in public.

@melliflws @axolotllover225 @yuhayeee @st7rnioioss @sturn-bugz @sturniolosmind @worldlxvlys @patscorner @breeloveschris @y0urm4m @bernardsbendystraws @junnniiieee07 @raysmayhem-72 @luverboychris

[elliesstrapon]

False Accusations

✧˚ · . Oblivious Ellie Williams x Devoted reader

"I was all over her.." ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

✧˚ · . Summary: In which your feelings couldn't be reciprocated.

✧˚ · . Warnings: Swearing, Friends to lovers, slow burn, light make outs, Ellie isn't in love with you, childhood friends, dorm mates, cheating

✧˚ · . Part 3

------------

✧˚ · . Part 2 ⬇️

Waking up was a blur.

You layed in bed, Ellie again still not there in the dorm with you, just a replacement message that'd said she was out to breakfast with Ava.. for the second time this week, and it was only Wednesday, your body already giving away, how you couldn't get up due to your first work out at the gym yesterday thanks to Ellie.

And she couldn't bother stay and ease you through the pain. "This girl..." You sighed, getting up weakly, your muscles tensing up, every inch of you sore.

You felt nothing but annoyed as you got ready for yet another long day of college. Throwing on but an overused outfit you wore atleast twice every week, the sleeves themselves becoming ridiculously stretched out, the string cursing to be ripped out like a dagger stuck in your side, to which, up until now, you never did, liking the top too much to scrunch the sleeves like that.

You somehow made it to your first lecture. Only really surviving it thanks to the efforts of Dina, and Jesse, switching between the messages, asking to meet up after your third period when you'd all finally be together; including Ellie.

We have major shit to discuss!!

That party on Friday!

Jesse actually wants to go?

You raised your brow, the idea of Jesse actually wanting to do something social for once making you feel repulsed.

He doesn't have a choice..

All of us are going, even Ellie.

I thought she didn't wanna go?

It's about Ava..

Always is, isn't it?

You rolled your eyes, finding no more joy in talking to anyone, you apologized quickly to Dina, flipping your phone, and putting it back into your bag.

You couldn't do this again, Ellie in another fucked up relationship. Within three days Ava blew up and flooded your entire existence. Everyday just another excuse for Ellie not to show up at the dorm to be with you but instead with someone she'll never cross paths with again on that momentum. If she was going to be with way, 6 years ago you would've told yourself being in love with her was not worth it.

You gloomly watched the time go by, the clock so slow it almost made your mind explode from anticipation, not only that, but Ava. 3rd period would be where it all goes down, in your seats would not be you and Ellie, just Ava, and Ellie, you'd been in that class for 2 years, and had never once heard the name "Ava" you couldn't muster up any words, nor coherent thoughts that explained what you were feeling about all this. You drew on the hard surface before you, leaving the pencil stains across it like a mark and then packed up, rubbing your eyes exhaustedly.

Your second class had been the exact same, the same students raising their hands and talking, speaking too much irrelevant information. Whilst you sat there with your hand on your lap, just barley comprehending. And to your dismay, also missing Ellie.

Or rather, you missed Ellie before these horrificly mind playing feelings for her sprouted in the depths of your heart. And when she wasn't nearly such a push over with almost every other woman on campus. You entirely blamed it on the coming ending of 9th grade.

When she finally learnt how to play your favorite song on her guitar.

She talked about it at school all the time, how it was a work in progress, that you couldn't listen till she mastered your favorite song to play for you, that you always thought stupid, especially now, that your feelings were so strong because of her dedication to you. You slept at her house that night, staying up late into the dark, you sat silently on the floor, watching as she adjusted herself at the foot of her bed, nervously tuning the guitar while the moon light flooded her bedroom, clashing with her fairy lights. " 'm nervous" she mumbled, her hair falling from behind her ear that was painted a shy pink, it spreading to her cheeks. "Don't be!" You assured her, a smile so sweet on your lips. "You've been talking about this for months, I'm happy you're finally deciding to show me" she pursed her lips, warming up her fingers, her eye lashes fluttering when she looked down to the strings, her breathing uneven. "Okay.." her voice hoarse and shakey. Her finger strum the corde gently, the sound ringing through the room like a melody.

The tune filled your ears, every strum strong, steady, your heart throbbed at the persecuted cordes, you silently watched, her fingers nipping and sliding against the strings, the practicing had payed off, clearly putting so much time into it, her eyes squinting, so very focused on her hand work.

The soft spoken sound of her voice began to rope in with her guitar, every word relaxing and pleasing. It was like the wind, the slight breath of air she took after a long sentence, her words falling silent at the ending vowels, her bracelets clinking just under the tone of her voice. Its when the butterflies at the pit of your stomach picked up, your lower abdomen tingling when you reached, rubbing it with your hand. After that, your heart began to flutter around her, your pupils practically shaping into hearts when you saw her, all from that small experience, where it felt like you were her everything, like you were her person, the one she'd give away her short life to, that's what it felt like, in the moments you were her only interest, when she calmed you down during an anxiety attack, or held your hand when you were too scared to get lost, or even when she held you at sleepovers during the cold nights.

Alas, you were now only sitting in your third lecture. The crooked thought of her grin when she'd finished playing the guitar for you slipping away from your mind when she whispered into your ear about how she'd caught Ava staring at least 4 times now. "If you were out to breakfast with her, you two could've been foaming out the mouth for eachother beside eachother." You scoffed. "I mean, who walks into class together, after a date, and not sit beside eachother?" You groaned, resting your head on your hot palm. Her whispers tickling your skin. "Wanted t'sit with you" she smiled, a dorky look on her face. "Oh, how kind, the so lovely Ellie Williams, chose me, over her beautiful love" you teased, "you should' feel 'special" her toothy grin only growing wider as she layed her head on your shoulder. "Oh, no, I'm honoured." Your bones tensing at her touch. You ignored how she repeatedly turned her head to the long haired brunette, her devilish eyes twinkling whenever Ellie stole another glance at her. You almost felt sick. "Y'think she's jealous?" She chuckled into your arm. "Gosh, I don't know Ellie, I wonder how she feels watching her little crush lay her head on the shoulder of another" you sighed. "Bet she's..." She trailed off, "uh, so... Last night, y'left the gym, y'seemed really upset, are y'sure your 'right?" Her eyes looking up at you, hints of worry traced within her tone. "Yes Ellie, I'm fine" you cleared your throat. "I was just sore, and tired, and you seemed just about done too, so, I left" you whispered. "If y'say so, I dunno... Y'just seem sad" she nodded. "I'd hate if I'made y'upset" she huffed, her hot breath hitting your chest like a wall. "I'm fine, don't worry" you smiled, your heart collapsing on itself at the thought of her caring about you, understanding you. You patted her head gently, momentarily forgetting about Ava.

Before you knew it, you, Jesse, Ellie, and Dina were walking down the street, planning your weekend excessively. "So... Jesse, you have no choice but to be at the party" Dina chuckled evilly. "Yeah, 'I'guess so." He sighed. "I don't even think I wanna go anymore" you crossed your arms. "Why not?!" Dina cried, stopping midway to grab your shoulders firmly. "Y'know why.." you lowered your voice. "Oh, please, just forget about it, for me?!" She pouted, "fine" you smiled playfully.

"Agh, great! Party on Friday all of us!"

Short and boring chapter cause this is a necessary part to the storyline 🤞🏽 also short cause Im tired 😭.. sorry lovelys <33

[probably-writing-x]

Just One of Those Days

Summary:

Warnings: just a whole bunch of fluff

Author’s Note: i’ve been running low on creativity the past few days so i hope you still enjoy this <3 requests are always open xoxo

———

You knew as soon as you woke up that it wouldn’t be a good day. It was the second day of your period, meaning your hormones felt like they were all over the place, your torso was in constant pain from cramping, you had a headache that you couldn’t shake, you were hungry beyond what your normal food could satisfy, and you wanted to sleep and cry all at once. Typical, right?

Drew had already left, and he told you he’d be on set all day today. You’d be at home on your own on a day you really didn’t want to be. But that wasn’t his fault. You had to remind yourself of that.

You change into your baggiest pair of joggers and one of Drew’s hoodies, the clothes making you feel like you had shrunk into them. That’s all it feels like you have the energy to do, flopping down onto the couch and turning the TV on. It’s all the shitty programmes at this time, so you switch to Netflix and binge watch a show you’d seen five times already.

Drew texts you at five saying he’s going to be late coming home and asks if you want anything at the shop. You’d learnt already today that you had no good food in the house, so you ask him to pick up some snacks - though couldn’t make your mind up on exactly what you wanted. You drop your phone back onto the couch underneath you and turn back to the TV show, rewinding to watch the scene again.

~~~

An hour or so later, you hear Drew’s keys in the door, the rustle of a paper bag in his hand.

“Hey baby!” He calls out, “I got us dinner at the shop - I was thinking grilled chicken salad.”

You groan and turn your head into the pillow underneath you.

“Everything okay?” You can hear the frown in his words.

“I just thought we could order tonight,” You push yourself up to sit on the couch.

“Oh, well that’s okay, we can order, this stuff will last for tomorrow,” Drew nods, setting it down on the table in the kitchen before walking over to you in the lounge.

He bends down over the side of the couch to kiss you and you return the gesture quickly.

“What’s wrong?” Drew frowns, sitting down on the coffee table in front of you so that he could face you.

“Nothing, I’m just tired,” You shake your head, “How was work?”

“It was good, pretty busy day actually. I was filming with the rest of the cast a lot today so it was so much more fun,” He smiles, “How was your day?”

Your stomach was grumbling and your eyes felt tired and you wanted to order a takeaway and go to bed. But your boyfriend was home and he’d bought you snacks and he was asking how your day was. And yet you couldn’t think of anything more than wanting to go to bed and shut off from the world for a day.

“It was fine.”

Drew frowns at you, resting a hand on your knee, his thumb brushing over the material of your joggers, “Have I done something wrong?”

You shake your head, “Just tired.”

“Alright, well let me order us some food, and you can pick the film we watch, do you want a drink or anything?”

“I hate picking the film, I never know what we should watch.”

He laughs and stands up, “Alright, you take my phone and order whatever food you want, I’ll put away the groceries and then pick the film. Is that a better deal?”

You nod and he hands you his phone from your pocket. It lights up with a photo of the two of you on holiday, on the beach. But all you can focus on is the way your body seems to feel so different now from the way it looked there, and it boils a new sense of irritation inside you - one you try to dismiss.

“They didn’t have the chips you like at the store so I got the other flavour instead,” Drew mentions as he empties out the grocery bags, stopping as he looks up to see you.

You’ve got the hood of his jumper tugged up around your head, like you’re disappearing inside the clothes, your hair poking out from either side around your face, your shoulders slumped.

He laughs gently, stepping around the kitchen island to see you, “You look adorable. C’mere.”

Drew envelopes his arms around you, his chin resting on your hair.

“Just having a bad day?” He asks, tightening his arms around you.

You hum in agreement against his chest, burying yourself into him, “I forgot the end of your phone number and it’s asking for it to order the food.”

Drew chuckles again, “Alright, it’s okay, I got it, how about we just watch The Office tonight?”

You nod and pull away from him, letting him press a soft kiss to your forehead before you go back to the couch, Drew watching behind you as you go.

He comes into the lounge a few minutes later, telling you that he’s ordered the food and that it shouldn’t be more than forty minutes. Your stomach grumbles at the thought of waiting. Drew outstretches an arm and you slip into his hold, your head resting against his lap. He smooths a hand over your hair, running his fingers through the strands and massaging your scalp.

The two of you stay like that until someone buzzes at the flat and Drew gets up to go and collect the food. He comes back with chinese takeaway boxes for the two of you and you sit on opposite sides of the couch to eat, your feet curled up underneath you.

You’re not sure why it comes over you so quickly, but it’s like as soon as you open it, the emotion simply overwhelms you.

“What? What is it? Did I do something wrong?” Drew frowns, setting his food down to divert his full attention to you.

You shake your head, tears filling over your eyes, trying your best to avoid them falling over your cheeks, “No, no, I’m fine.”

“Darling, what’s wrong?” Drew continues, his brows furrowing.

“I ordered the wrong rice,” You stare down at your food, a tear rolling over your cheek, “I wanted egg fried rice and I ordered the wrong one.”

Drew smiles, squeezing your thigh, “Take mine, I’ll have this one. Is that okay?”

You sniff and he swaps the boxes over like it’s nothing, leaning back into his seat and turning back to watch the TV. You carry on eating the rest of your takeout, it slowly starting to ease the clench of hunger in your stomach. Though, it doesn’t take long before you realise what episode of The Office is playing, the one where Pam’s certain she’s not enough for Jim - the scene always made you cry.

And today is no different. Your shoulders shake as you start to cry, your chopsticks left discarded in your half empty box of food as your vision blurs from the liquid pooling in them.

“Your food’s not good? They forgot part of your order?” Drew guesses, grabbing a tissue from the box on the coffee table and handing it over to you, “What’s happened?”

“It’s you,” You sniff, wiping your eyes with the tissue.

“What? I didn’t do anything,” Drew laughs a little, “I’m just breathing over here.”

“You picked this episode,” You sniff, “This always makes me cry.”

Drew laughs and sets your food boxes down, taking both of your hands and pulling you into him, wrapping his arms around you, “Okay, so I’m guessing this is about to be a bad few days instead of just a bad day. Do you need me to get you anything or do you have enough?”

“I have enough,” You mumble, tucking your head against him.

“Okay, that’s one good thing,” He runs a hand up and down your back, “How about we finish our food, we turn off the TV, I’ll get a hot water bottle ready for you, and we can just stay in bed. I’ve got tomorrow off too so we don’t even need to worry about getting up.”

You nod against his chest and feel him tighten his hold around you, pushing back the hood over your hair to kiss you a few times, again and again until you’re laughing in his arms.

“There she is,” Drew grins as you pull away from him enough to look up, “Feeling a bit better?”

You nod again and kiss him quickly, moving your head to rest against his shoulder instead.

“Okay we can stay here for a little longer.”

[rocketturtle4]

Last Twilight, Growth, Change, Hope and most of all, Trust 

because I adored this show, without reservation.

(I wrote this before realising quite how many people were unhappy with the ending but my thoughts stand)

My friend, @plantsarepeopletoo wrote in their post about ep 12 that

The story is saying hope is something worth chasing after.

This is something I emphatically agree with, and I want to add one more core premise that the show felt like it built on throughout

No matter how big change is, growth comes from the little moments when we trust.

This was a show *full* of big, the accident, the lost dreams of national competition, a year in jail, a sister’s death, a parent’s death, a parent’s divorce, an unplanned pregnancy and of course, blindness.

And yet,

This was a show full of tiny moments of growth, hard earned and barely celebrated, of what it was like to see clearly for just 10 seconds of a day. Of how to eat a plate of food without sight, of what it feels like to hold out your hand and trust someone to take it. What forgiveness feels like, voiced in small certain words.

We climbed mountains, and bought slippers, We ran away from home and we learnt to eat cake.

Big Moments

Small Moments

But most of all

Trust

And that was what we lost in episode 11 and that is what episode 12 had to rebuild.

Day thought that Mhok was the one person who trusted him to be okay by himself, even if just for a little while, Day saw him as an equal, a faen. That’s what he chose when he stepped over the marathon finish line. But Mhok wasn’t there with him, not completely. He wanted to carry all of Day’s needs as well as his own.

He didn’t share the nightmare

He didn’t share the job offer

He didn’t share his fear over the car accident

He didn’t trust Day.

And so Day ended things, firmly and with false certainty because he never wanted to be anyone’s burden. He wanted to be Mhok’s equal, and as things stood, Mhok couldn’t give him that.

Episode 12 (again as @plantsarepeopletoo points out) shows that even though the two have grown so much over the past 3 years, they still lack the trust because they’ve done the work separately and not together.

You see it in the way Mhok doesn’t speak until Day is already in the car.

Doesn’t speak until Day recognises his scent.

But once Day recognises him by scent alone, Mhok gives in and trusts enough to lean in and flirt, to show up and cook him food, to take him for suit fittings and cake tastings, to ask him to dance and then finally, to ask for a second chance.

Day’s trust is a more fragile thing. How can he know Mhok sees him as a whole person, trusts him, when Mhok picks up right where they left off, when he continues to pull out his chair and catch his arm to walk him, when he helps him with his jacket, and his food.

What if nothing has changed?

How can he know?

And he needs a push here, more than Mhok does, because of how his trust was broken, but Mum tells Day.

To be uncertain in love is the most normal thing of all, to step forward we must take a risk

To love, is to trust, and so, Day chooses to trust.

And for me, this was the most beautiful moment of all, and the most fulfilling ending I could have gotten.

For me this show held up, from start to finish.

It’s a show about learning to trust your family, your friends and most importantly yourself, no matter what life throws your way.

For those of you who feel that this doesn’t address what you perceive as the biggest flaws in the show, maybe it was Day’s Mum, or Day getting his Vision back, or the show choosing not to explicitly address Mhok’s trauma and abandonment issues, I am not saying you are wrong at all. For me, an explicit unpacking of those things wasn’t needed. They weren’t the threads I was holding onto.

Day’s mum learnt to see him as a whole person.

Mhok learnt to live independently, without someone relying on him.

Day’s vision was returned, an afterthought of the show, after he was already a whole, happy person.

None of these things were less for me.

Because every moment of this show was filled with so much more.

[momotonescreaming]

We know that Steve thinks his Dad is an asshole, but he doesn’t really mention his mother other than a few off hand comments. She goes on his Dad’s business trips because she doesn’t trust him not to cheat, she’s well respected in Hawkins, and Steve used her as a reference when he applied for the job at Family Video. So I got to thinking about what if she was a good person also trapped under the pressure of Mr Harrington, just like Steve? What if Steve had a good relationship with her? And this happened

Mrs Harrington who loved her husband once, who had a husband who loved her back. She loved his ambition, his drive, his dedication. She didn’t love it when it started to turn into him spending all hours at the office, at business meetings. When it started to turn into something money hungry. But it was his job. He knew best. Right?

Mrs Harrington has a baby because she wants one. She’s always wanted to be a mother. Mr Harrington has a kid because it’s What You Do. You have a kid so they can take over your company, carry on your family legacy. Uphold the Harrington name. His reputation. A nanny can raise them when they’re little. When they're older they can follow in his footsteps. Popular, likes cars, plays basketball.

Mrs Harrington raises little Steve as much as she can. He’s a little Mama’s boy. She’ll go to the salon to get her hair done and Steve sits in the chair next to hers, driving his toy cars up and down the seat. Steve drags her outside so he can show her this “Really cool swimming trick, Mama!” and she watches him happily from the porch seats, commenting that he swims so well is he sure he’s not part fish? He’ll watch her put her make up on and get ready for a Charity Gala she’s organising. He tells her she’s beautiful, Mama and she’ll run one of her big fluffy make up brushes across his cheeks so he can be beautiful too.

Steve gets older and Mr Harrington takes over in shaping Steve’s life. He’s a man now. A Harrington. Mrs Harrington isn’t quite sure what to do. She thinks her husband might be a bit harsh but he was a teenage boy once, he must know what’s best for him. Right? He’s the man of the family. The head of the household and what he says goes. She isn’t so sure now, but it’s what her father always taught her. It’s what she always learnt in Church. She fawns under his harsh gaze and feels the guilt churning in her gut as she doesn’t know what to do. Steve starts pulling away from her, and her husband keeps flirting with his young secretaries.

It comes to a head in Steve’s senior year when she’s with her husband on a business trip in New York. Her husband’s secretary gets a call that Steve’s in the hospital after getting into a fight with another student - Billy Hargrove. Her husband brushes it off as ‘Boys will be boys’. A Harrington shouldn’t have lost. Maybe this will teach him about consequences. Did he even think about what this could have done to their reputation? He doesn’t tell his wife.

Mrs Harrington is the only one in their hotel room when the secretary calls again with an update from the hospital. She finds out that he knew that their only son was in the hospital and didn’t tell her. It’s the last straw. Her husband comes back to the hotel room smelling of expensive liquor and someone else’s perfume. They get into a screaming match and she packs her bags and calls a taxi. She calls the hospital from the airport that she’s on her way.

She gets the first plane she can and rushes straight to the hospital. The nurse at the reception desk tells her what room he’s in and she tears up as soon as she sees Steve.

“Oh my baby. I’m so sorry.”

Steve locks eyes with her and his eyes water. “Hi Mama.” His voice is quiet.

She rushes over to hug him and his teary eyes turn into violent sobs, her whispering comforting nothings to her baby boy as he cries. She came as soon as she heard, she’s so sorry, he’s okay now. She doesn’t tell him yet that she wasn’t there earlier because her husband didn’t tell her. Her wedding ring feels heavy on her finger.

When Steve is recovering at home, asleep in the other room, she rings a divorce lawyer.

[lilflowerpot]

Heyyy I hope your doing well and I hope your resting and not wasting all your free time answering these! Don't forget to drink alot of water and sleep at least 6 hours night. I just wanted to know your thoughts on how Lotor would react to being at the garrison. Meeting his last bullies, classmates, least favourite teachers and so on. How would he respond to both them and Keith. Would he show him off more or something like that? Again rest plenty and only answer when you feel like it.

@stinkyexhaust: So if Lotor were to find out about how much of a prick James was to Keith, how do you think he would react? I mean I don't hate James in fact I think he honestly could have had way more screentime to showcase more of his personality and backstory, especially in regards to Keith.

-

Honey if I only got six hours a night I would be the living dead, but this is very sweet of you nonetheless ♡

I've been asked something of a similar vein once before, as well as the Garrison's reaction to Keith's relationship with Lotor, and I'll repeat now what I said then: it's an important thread of the keitor dynamic (to me at least) that Keith & Lotor strengthen one another by allowing for personal growth beyond simply fighting on their partner’s behalf. So while Lotor mightn't be fond of certain figures from Keith's past—particularly given the little he learnt in chapter 24 about Iverson's handling of the Kerberos fallout—he knows and respects that Keith is more than capable of fighting his own battles, and wouldn't want to interfere with that (something something, galra sense of honour, you get it).

...All that being said, would our favourite prince be practically chomping at the bit to let it be known that he is the man who gets to stand beside Keith Kogane, Blade of Marmora, Paladin of Voltron, and Love of his Life? Yes. yes he would.

With regard to James specifically, it is my personal reading of his relationship with Keith that it was a very poorly handled mutual crush, and yet it was this very antagonism between them that pinged the galra part of Keith's brain in all the right ways. The altercation canon showed us in s7ep01 (which, despite LB being canon-divergent post s4, does in fact remain canon within my narrative bc I actually thought every insight we were given into James & Keith's past was impeccable) wherein James insulted Keith's parents, was a classic case of projection on his part; James strikes me as a privileged kid whose family expected nothing less than perfection—for him to be the best of the best at everything at all times—so I think that effortlessly-exceptional Keith getting the group into trouble simply because he was bored led to an exceedingly cruel comment,,, but I don't believe James actually knew Keith was an orphan when he said what he said.

Naturally, Keith (and we as the viewers with full knowledge of his backstory) assumes James intended to end that taunt with "before they died / abandoned you" but I'm not convinced. James could have just as easily been about to say "before they shipped you off to the military / halfway across the state / out of sight and mind" which I think is exactly what happened to him, leaving him understandably hurt, bitter, and desperate to prove himself. So yes, James—as a volatile teenager with abandonment issues, and oh look, who does that remind you of—fucked up, and payed the price of Keith's fist in his face; ultimately though, I think of Keith as having long since moved past it, and if he doesn't hold a grudge against Griffin, then why would Lotor? Particularly when, by galra standards, that specific instance was been resolved through rite of combat, and the rest of their relationship was, to an Imperial eye, just normal teenage brawling ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[lafcadiosadventures]

Madame Putiphar Groupread. Book Two, Chapter XXXIV

Francesco Hayez. Two versions of La Meditazione, 1851

(ALSO pls check out this 1877 edition of Mme P, including an illus of Deborah smashing the pornography!! couldn't post that bc of ownership, but I would have!!)

(reading mates: @counterwiddershins + @sainteverge )

Asorted thoughts on this very extense and well written chapter:

(this is a very long post you guys. it happens)

-Deborah should know by now not to visit her regular places

-on a symbolic plane, Catholic rites endanger her, literally put her in a vulnerable physical position (we have seen how catholicism can be a crutch for Patrick, pushing him to pasivity)(Deborah is always more active, but this time she is literally led by her faith to a place her captors know she frequents, and she herself is lying flat against the ground, which gives her captors physical dominace over her)

-Once again, the intelligence of the character is not entirely consistent, the scene tho, is very effective and evocative (deborah has watered the stones of the church floor with her tears. Her captors don't respect anything, it's the whole idea of profanation, not only of a temple but of a sacred moment)

-they blindfold her, cover her with one of her capes and shove her into a carriage. Reminds me a lot of accounts of people who were illegally detained, it all rings true. Once agin this is the (monarchic) state employing tactics of criminals.

-Deborah never gives up mentally, refuses to walk and has to be pushed, uses her eloquence to persuade the guards to let her live for the sake of her child (a smart rhetoric tactic, since her captors don't care about her, maybe they will doubt helping kill her if they know she is pregnant)

-Borel's narrator acts as if we don't know what we learnt last chapter (she is not going to be killed, she is sent to the king's brothel) giving the reader the upper hand over Debbie.

-However we don't know if her persuasivve speech has worked, we are as blind as her. She shakes and cries out in disgust as she recieves a succession of kisses on her cheeks and mouth. The person who just did that is a woman, who tells her she is safe and surrounded by people who love her. We guess this is the Madame. Her current tactic after kissing her against her will is being verbally soft and respectful, minding protocol and her title.

-Deborah is still blindfolded, not allowed to learn the structure of the place she is imprisioned in, yet the narrator shows us she is paying attention to what she can percieve as she follows the madame through the building (stairs, counting the sounds of locks, etc)

-Once inside her well furnished bedchamber-cum-cell, her blindfold is removed. Her two servants are incredibly ugly old men, very polite as well, dressed in Green, a color that has been highlighted in the narrative in relation to the clothes of Villepastour and the Knight of Youth. Beauty, mundanity and sexuality connects Villepastour and the perhaps more positive (and less pusilanimous) but also deadly Knight, so it's valid to connect the servants with them. They all serve the same credo. (it would be clever, even if nothing points to this, if in a Der Blaue Engel twist, the servants were past Villepastours, former discarded lovers of Pompadour, reduced to serfdom and watchdog status)

-A feast is brought to her room (the idea is to make her lower her guard) she is famished and parched but doesn't touch even a glass of water (the theme of the pure heroine resisting worldy temptations, seen in many fairytales) She suspects the food is poisoned but I imagine also a kind of repugnance from anything that came from her captors, accepting the food is in a way, playing by their rules. A dueña (duègne in french, a chaperone) undresses her and introduces her into her bed. (We are now in a bifurcation, Deborah enters one of the types of prisons for women -> the royal Brothel, we will perhaps see a prison for men, if Patrick has survived his illegal arrestation)

-Deborah tries to guess where she is, relying on what she heard and smelt on the carriage, and what she has seen and how she was treated in the mansion. (this once again, reads absolutely verosimile if one compares it with accounts of people who have been kidnapped or illegally imprisoned, Borel is well documented and it shows. Once again, it is interesting that he chooses to give us this insight with Deborah and not with Patrick. Borel wants us to stay with Deborah and like her, believe that Patrick is dead and she is all alone)

-She concludes she has been kidnapped and taken to one of Villepastour's retirement houses (nobles used to have smallish mansions to keep mistresses/sexual servants, sometimes literally trapped with no chance to leave... not really different from forced sexual labor) Her guess is as we know, partially wrong but very close to the truth. and if Villepastour hadn't spoken would Pompadour had remembered to take revenge on her?

-{i think it's fair to say that the king in this novel is like the king in chess. He is not at all the most powerful piece in the board. He does evil and has no qualms about it -as we will see- but everything has to be arranged for him, he must be served in all orders. He doesn't even know who Deborah is, so people around him can definitely use him for their petty revenges. It's not that he's a dupe (even if Pompadour is the mastermind of the novel) it's just that he is lazy, even the hard work behind his "fun" must be arranged by others}

-Deborah regrets not having stolen a knife from the table. She is far from defeated mentally, she'd rather die fighting.

-She avoids sleeping to be alert, opens the window. The fresh air revives her (nature comes to her aid against the evils of men) she sticks her head against the door to try and hear anything to avoid being surprised, but also, to learn anything that might be informative.

-once again the dueñas enter her room and manipulate her body while she still sleeps, putting her some pretty slippers on. She is now a doll, with little to no bodily autonomy. She is taken to a bathroom (the narrator still takes Debbie's pov, she is trying to ammass as much details of the place she is in as she can) She is put inside the bathtub (Borel cleverly uses passive voice to show us how she is being treated, gently but forcefully, and sorpresively. She cannot anticipate her servant/gaoler's movements and they are strong enough to lift her and move her like furniture)

-Enter a woman in a robe who deborah recognizes by the sound of her voice as the woman who has kissed her the night before.

-Enter the portrayal of queer persons -lesbians were a privileged subject- in french Romanticism to this particular book. How does Borel does it, in contrast to his peers? Physically there is nothing ordinary about her, Borel barely spends a line on how she looks like, it's how she acts that interests him. Borel is to be commended for this, there is nothing constitutive, physically essentialist about her queerness. What's important is that she is a mature woman of “vulgar”figure, with very refined manners. We conclude, probably a working class woman, nothing remarkable in her apereance, who has learnt the refined manners of her bosses. (I would love to compare her with Passereau, the beautiful and hispanic looking little sparrow who is confused with a male prostitute by the men gathering under the gay cruising spot aka the Boar in the Tuilleries, but I need to reread Passereau, all I can think of rn is, although Passereau isn't foreign he -like Borel- is thought to be, and remember how many of Vautrin's boyfriends are italian or corsican, even if vautrin himself is extremely ??? north of france looking with his flaming red hair, it is not unfrequent to “foreignize” homosexuality, even by authors who were queer themselves, like balzac, and very possibly Borel as well)

-I need at this point to bring up the Mother Superior in the Sainte-Eutrope Convent from Diderot's La Réligièuse. She and the Madame have some things in common. The Superior basically does the rounds undressing and bathing and forcing herself -sometimes, she is desired by some- on her novices and nuns. Her physical portrayal is similar to Borel's she is basically unremamrkable looking, of extreme sensitivity, a little fat but there's no Phrenology going on here, from either author. Although the Superior abuses her power she is not a rapist of the violent kind, I think the Mother Superior actually believes Suzanne loves her back, and she is incredibly surprised when Suzanne, right after making her orgasm, cries out for help because she thinks the Superior is sick)(this is fine erotic writing by old Denis, the prologuist of my penguin edition complains Suzanne is too inocent to be believeble, I personally buy it)(this book needs rereading though)

-Borel highlights her mouth (something that Balzac does in Théodore Calvi's -one of his corsican homosexual bandits, and a personal favorite of mine- introduction, and Hugo does with the very likely male prostitute Montparnasse. Borel does a close up shot of her lips, her honeyed mouth, she is savouring every word she says, to make Deborah trust her but also alludes to an excess of sensuality same as Diderot's Mother Superior)

-what follow is a long and interesting dialogue with Deborah and her. Both women are written as intelligent and trascend their stock roles of pure heroine and perverse gay madame.

I'll make use of cam's translation here:

“The interest that is being taken in me is too violent, madame; it is an indiscreet and insulting zeal which I fault and reject. But may I at least know who professes such an exorbitant benevolence towards me? In whose name was I led to this shelter? what is this shelter and what fate is awaiting me here?”

“(...)Answer me, am I here in a state prison?” “Does this residence, mylady, resemble a dungeon? and me, do I look like a gaoler?” “Could I be in a convent?” “Maybe.”

(that maybe...Even if couvent in french doesn't connote brothel like in elizabethan english, Borel invites us to find the similarities between both institutions)

-Deborah is correct in her intuitive association between the royal whorehouse and a prison.

-Borel's narrator illustrates the madame's thought process when Deborah begs for more concrete answers. Characterizing her as a bohemian, (une fine bohême, with an ^ instead of an `) a romani woman (we are perhaps getting exotification of homosexuality as foreign here?) and “fine” she is indeed, she is very sharp and makes the lies she tells appear like confidences the “élèves” have forced her to make. So she invents a story about a suposed benefactor (the Count of Gonesse) who heard about Deborah's enemies and vulnerable position and has taken her so that she can enjoy a confortable and safe life in seclusion, and throw herself freely into “the voluptuosness of pain and melancholy”. Deborah doesn't even believe the Count to exist. If he does, she demands to be told what does he want from her, what are his plans concerning her...(the "why me" moment) The idea behind the Madame's answer is to make Deborah believe her benefactor wants to win her heart and marry her later on, so that she accepts the king's “visits” meekly and with a false sense of hope.

-Deborah ofc doesn't want to marry again (least of all, marry an unknown man who is forcing her into a sense of indebtedness and gratitutde) this setback makes the madame think of starting Deborah's education aka having sex with her, (the king, Borel tells us, is fooled, he only gets the crumbs the Madame leaves for him) She tries to get Deborah naked, but she holds her clothes back. She gets chided for her modesty (only ugly women should be modest, the madame claims, while groping her body and describing it through metaphors, marble like breasts, her silouette, as curvaceous as a vase, something @sainteverge has noticed is a reccurring theme in her descriptions) Borel is in fact very explicit, breaking the boundaries that usually constrain fellow “serious” novelists who avoid explicit sex scenes even when the plot would require them. Borel lets us know the madame was kissing deborah's breasts and was in fact about to give her oral, when Deborah stops her by holding her forehead away from her crotch.

-the madame appologizes but asks Deborah to understand she wants to earn her love, while she laments not being a man, in order to please her. (mentioning this bc wanting to change genders is another favorite theme for the Fr Romantics... homosexuality seems linked in this period to a kind of transexuality)

-Deborah is said to not be able to understand sex between women. Although she finds the Madame's stares sexually charged, can only link them with how Patrick touches her/looks at her, she is still in the dark. Reminiscent of Diderot's Suzanne Simonin whose body the Superior uses to reach orgasm, and she never understands what is happening to the other woman. (it must be said that Borel calls lesbianism a depravation*. Diderot links it to an illness-no comments- he however, thinks he is being sympathetic)

* there are many instances in this book where Borel asumes a moralistic writing style, such as when he describes Pompadour’s sex apron,,,

-An interesting point is that art is what allows Deborah to understand homosexuality. Pornography in a wold where gayness isn't talked about openly is the only point of reference she can have. This is very interesting (consider vautrin, speaking of his sexuality constantly in terms of references from the books he has read, only once porn in his case)

-another interesting detail, re the dynamics of this prison: Deborah has the keys to her own room (cell) so she locks herself in. She proceeds to break everything in it, especially the porn on the walls and shelves of her library (if you haven't watched the Handmaiden (2016) yet, watch The Handmaiden, it's the closest thing to a madame putiphar adaptation we have without it being one) She makes a huge ruckus, throws boooks, porcelain figurines the whole shebang in a cathartic explosion, out of the window. The madame begs to be let in, begs for Deborah not to break anything else. Deborah confronts her, she is in a brothel and she is a madame. The Madame still tries to deny it all, insists with the story of Gonesse, but Debbie still doesn't open her door, so the madame summons brute force (once again as in many moments of this book, people are persuaded first by kindness then by brute force to submit to the hegemony) a soldier is summoned to break the door down, Debbie stands her ground. after calling her a madwoman, a thankless madwooman who pays back with insanity the kind treatment she was given, the men start pounding on the door, they break it down but face a barricade of furniture, Deborah yells she will jump out of the window if they even cross it. The Madame begs the soldiers to stop bc Debbie is in fact capable of keeping her word and the blame would fall on her. The battle is won by Deborah who is sieged inside her room with enough food to last a few days...

[riversimmone]

The Single Rose

The Single Rose

RiverOfTheSand

Summary:

He was everything she needed, everything she wanted: but she would never be enough for him. Love wasn't supposed to be this hard. Rated M just to be safe.

Notes:

Cross-posted from fanfiction.net. If you don't like unhappy endings, don't read. Rated T. But borders on M. Please enjoy. :)

.

Come pick me red roses, And our love will survive And nothing you ever do Will drench the burning inside If I have learnt anything It's that we just need time Then one heart is broken And if not yours, then mine Your face shows your thoughts And when you smile, I cry So why must you leave me Why must you say goodbye?

Sakura remembered the cherry blossoms of the Sakura tree she had been named after, and of sitting under the tree that day with Sasuke Uchiha and holding hands. He was the boy she had fantasized about, the love she had hoped for, and the boyfriend she had had to sacrifice friendships to obtain.

Sasuke Uchiha.

That day, under the Sakura tree, he had given her what she had always wanted: his love. It had blossomed, he told her, and now we can be together. He would repeat this to her lovingly and she was happy. She had his hand in hers and his heart in hers. But it wasn't enough. Could he stay with her knowing he had given up his chance to kill his brother? These thoughts seemed to plague his mind, and yet he shared none of them. He would not smile unless to distract her from questioning him, and only held hands with her in private. Was he ashamed of her?

She watched him struggle to gain power, and push himself beyond his limits to attain what was ultimately unattainable. She had cried when he fought Naruto, and then in the aftermath, would not even speak to her. He left her feeling miserable, and wondering what he would do next. That night had been the beginning of the end, on that path out of Konoha, and she had seen it coming, and done nothing. It tore her apart to realise that nothing she said or did would have made any difference. There was nothing to do now. At least, that was what she told herself, awoken the next morning by Kotetsu and Izumo. Sasuke had knocked her unconscious to stop her from following, but also because he would otherwise have to kill her. She had threatened to scream. His hand on hers, his lips brushing her ear, and still the tender words he uttered did not make her feel important. What was she to him?

It was too tempting, to betray all that he knew, all that he supposedly loved, for a hope that his chance to kill his older brother could come sooner, with Orochimaru's help. He would not stay, he could not forget about his revenge.

Sasuke Uchiha.

And then so many years later, he found her bleeding on the battlefield, having been left for dead by the Akatsuki, the only survivor in her Anbu squad. Instead of killing her, or simply leaving her to die, he nursed her back to health. Once she had rested, she had given Sasuke that which she had been waiting to give him for years: her body. They had to be in love, right? But still he left her, again. He would not return to the village, and she could not leave Konoha.

A year later, having kept that day in the makeshift hut to herself, she encountered him again. He acted on instinct, and she let down her defences – in the rain, and in the woods, he had found her, given her what her body yearned for, only to leave her again. And again, she kept it quiet, no-one, not even Naruto had been there to stop her.

And there he was again, as if out of nowhere. She was on a solo mission and had just completed it in record time. She was all alone. Sasuke came to her, made love to her, and then left her all alone. But had it really been love? The Sakura tree had been so long ago. Could he still love her? Was a member of Akatsuki capable of love?

Sasuke Uchiha.

And now, only months on since the last time he had taken her body, but never given his heart, he had come back to defile her again. What was he planning now that he has his revenge on Konoha, what could possibly excuse what he had done? She felt dirty, and weak and pathetic. How could she have let this go on for so long? If she had just stopped him, if she had taken advantage of his lulled state, of that moment after achieving his eagerness where he lay back in satisfied pleasure, would they both be in this predicament now?

He was beneath her, inside her, and his eyes told her he was thinking about their first time. He had chosen to take her, knowing the consequences, then again, and again. It was a brutal cycle. Fate had reunited them, only to shatter her innocence, to torment her, and then finally to destroy her future. Now, on the forest floor, outside the borders of Konoha, she had chased him down, only to find herself in his arms once again. But it was too late. There was no point in reminiscing on the past, the violent, broken moments in which she would give herself wholly and completely to a man that had no intention of going back to the beginning. That was his choice.

'And now I must make mine,' she thought, gritting her teeth.

She held his life in her hands. Looking into those red eyes, those killer eyes, she hesitated. He had hesitated to kill her – that was why she was still alive. But Sasuke Uchiha was a killer. So he had loved her once. So she had loved him as well. But now, the killing had to stop, they both had to be free. The red rose flitted about her mind's eye. He had originally given her a cherry blossom, the light pink flowers that reminded him of her hair. After she'd told him she preferred roses, it had been nothing else since. But there was one rose, a single stem he'd given her that stood out from the rest. Waking up on a park bench in the cold of the early morning, she'd found it in her hair.

'A single rose to say goodbye.'

A single rose, that had withered in a day. It had always been that way with him. Nothing he gave her ever lasted. He was a true Uchiha, in every sense of the word.

Sasuke Uchiha.

Sakura shifted as Sasuke continued to hold her. Her kunai had gone to his throat every time they met in some remote place. She would always press it against his skin as he slid inside her, as though it were her defence against his lips. This time had been no different. They had not kissed each other since before he'd left Konoha. It was not his mouth, but his intense desire that she needed to defend against. And it was what she couldn't defend against.

Her body wracked with pleasure, she could only remember those moments where Sasuke Uchiha had both loved and hurt her. They were the moments that would give her the strength she needed. She gripped the kunai tighter as they neared the end of this incursion.

She did not call out as he peaked, preferring not to show him how much he still excited her. Instead, she whispered lovingly. 'I'm sorry.'

He opened his mouth to ask why, but gagged instead. Sakura pushed the blade of her kunai deep into his throat, having lowered her eyes to avoid that Sharingan. But she needn't have bothered. Stunned by her attack, he fell away from her, grasping desperately at his throat. His life's blood spilled out, and in the moments before all he saw was black, she knelt down beside him, to whisper in his ear. Her voice was laced with anger and shaking with fear:

'I am carrying your child.'

X X X

[beardedmrbean]

Averbode Abbey, a Norbertine abbey in Scherpenheuvel-Zichem (Flemish Brabant) has emerged as Belgium’s hotspot for exorcisms. More than 1,000 exorcisms take place here every year. Historian Kristof Smeyers (Leuven University) and "Geert", one of Flanders' official exorcists, explains the renewed popularity of 'devil exorcisms'.

An 'exorcism' may mainly have seemed something from the past. Yet it still happens today. "I do 3 exorcisms a week and not a day goes by without new requests," Geert, an official exorcist, explains. ("Geert" is a pseudonym, but his real name is known to our news team).

It asks a lot of him, in addition to his pastoral work "to listen to these people's stories and to try to set them free". Geert says he is no exception. "I often hear that even in other parishes they can hardly keep up with the demand".

Not like in the movies

"Exorcism has been around for a very long time," explains historian Kristof Smeyers (KU Leuven). His research 'Devil's Displeasure' tries to chart the history of exorcism in Flanders.

"At some point, the church felt that there was a need to incorporate these practices, which had existed for centuries. In the 17th century, the procedure was then written down step by step. Not much has changed since that day."

Geert learnt about exorcism from such works. "There are also courses in exorcism in Rome and I would like to take one someday. Exorcisms are not actually that spectacular, unlike how they are sometimes portrayed in films like 'The Exorcist'."

If it doesn't happen like in the famous horror movie, how is it done? "It starts with an exploratory conversation," Geert explains. "The person freely, and in full confidence, tells his story. This is followed by a long prayer to set him free. Nothing physical actually happens."

"The essence of an exorcism is engaging in dialogue with evil," adds historian Kristof Smeyers. "The manuals recommend caution, because the devil is the father of lies. So anything he says can be a lie."

Who chooses for an exorcism?

According to Smeyers, people who are possessed do not display uniform symptoms. "These symptoms change a lot over the centuries," he explains.

In the 19th and 20th centuries, for example, it’s mainly "physical symptoms" that occur. "In general, alarm bells go off when someone shows abnormal behaviour". Think of 'accidents' that occur but seem to have no explanation.  They can raise suspicions of the devil."

The historian does see a clear distinction between those who are convinced "that the devil dwells within them" and those whose surroundings are convinced of it. "There’s a disproportionate number of women who are said to be possessed by the devil or demons. There is a dominant theory that women are more prone to sinfulness and evil."

Geert sees a pattern in the people who come to him. "They are people who are stuck and cannot move forward in life and blame it on the presence of a superhuman force. We live in uncertain times. People have less to hold on to and find it harder to explain things."

Can exorcism offer these people real liberation? "It doesn't happen automatically” explains Geert ,”but about half the people say they feel better and are able to move forward once again."

[ur-local-demon1]

Luz and Hunter

Lunter shippers are not welcome here btw, this post will be proving the "sibling dynamic" claim, because I saw a post saying they just didn't see their relationship this way.

Wittebros

Starting off, Luz and Hunter are meant to parallel the Wittebane Brothers. Luz is a human on the boiling isles, like Philip, and Hunter is Caleb’s clone. Luz and Philip have some similarities, they’re both humans from Gravesfield who got to the boiling isles by “mistake”, as in, they shouldn’t be there. They both tried everything in their powers to get home and communicated with the isles to learn about Glyph Magic. The similarities pretty much end there, since Luz didn’t try to unalive Hunter or the entirety of the Boiling Isles. 

Ironically enough, we know as much about Caleb as much as Hunter knows about himself (almost nothing). Philip says Hunter looked the most like him, and it’s true, the resemblance is creepy af, but I also like to think it also applies to his personality, almost all the other Grimwalkers were. Once again, basing myself off of things Philip said because he is our only 99.9% reliable source to who was Caleb. He says “It hurts every time he choses to betray me,”. He’s referring to the time Caleb chose to give up witch-hunting as he fell in love with a witch and all the times his clone learnt the truth about him. Caleb’s morals and affection for witches and palismen continue to live on through his clones. 

How they see each other

In thanks to them, Luz tells Hunter she considers him to be a part of her family now, and Hunter starts crying since he doesn’t have a biological family and this is coming from who is technically his first ever non palisman friend. We see in the montage part of thanks to them, Hunter looking at the drawings the others did of their family, and obviously he feels bad for them, but it’s clear he wishes there was someone in the boiling isles worrying about him and wondering where he is. They’re family, and written as such. 

I’m one of the followers of the person who this post is dedicated to, and if they do find it, I hope they learned something and don’t get offended about what I’ll say next (they seem like a very open minded and calm person so): “This is just how I see/interpret the dynamic” and this isn’t how the crew/cast interpreted/wrote the dynamic. Luz and Hunter see each other as family (aka, siblings), and so does the cast, because we know damn well Hunter’s VA didn’t change his name on Twitter to “Hunter Noceda” for the ship. I know me of all people should be open minded and mature about ships that go against canon, but never when it erases representation. I love how Lunter shippers watched the owl house, saw Lumity, the only healthy woman loving woman ship that Disney has, heck, the only bisexual woman in a cartoon that hasn’t dated men, and they went “let’s ship that one with a man, it’s totally okay because she’s bi! :)”. And when I say love, I mean other words I can’t say because I’m not supposed to get angry. I’ll just leave Lunter shippers who think like this with this message: Go take that fake inclusivity of yours and go show it off to someone who cares because I certainly don’t. If we wanted yet another boring m/f ship with a bisexual woman in it, we would’ve watched the first seasons of the legend of Korra.

[where-theres-smoak-2]

The way you described the N*lina Sex Scene (Yuck) it sounds like Mal considered sex with Alina his due before he made his 'sacrifice.' He pretty much treated her like a one night stand rather than the woman he supposedly loved. He had gotten his pleasure from her body and then he walked away like it was nothing. Back in S1, Jessie said Alina wasn't a virgin, so she had to know the difference between real lovemaking and mediocre sex. I bet she was mentally comparing the act to Aleks choosing to rush back a kiss her before he left the War Room.

Yeah, I mean in an attempt to be fair to M*l he was in a high stress situation what with knowing that to 'save the world' he would have to become the sacrificial lamb, but I just found the way he got up out of the bed and walked away instead of cuddling with her really cold. Like I get he's going through it right now but so is Alina and instead of dealing with it together, with her, he is choosing to deal alone. It's something we see alot in their relationship actually, where they just don't confide in each other and instead try to deal with their problems and worries alone, in season 1 when writing to M*l, Alina pretends everything is great instead of confiding in him just how hard she is finding it, yet she does confide in Aleks about her worries. Then in season 2 Alina doesn't tell M*l about her connection to Aleks, he doesn't tell her that he feels like she is rushing ahead and that he's just trying to play catch up, that she is meant for more and he feels like he is being left behind. I mean there is a very noticeable difference in the way M*lina communicate with each other (they don't really) and the way darklina do (always really open with each other), yet I am supposed to root for M*lina? Or believe that the couple who can't even manage basic communication skills is the healthier one?

I also think you make a great comparison between the scene of M*l whilst stressed leaving Alina and Aleks who was also in a stressful situation, having just learnt about the assassin, going back to kiss Alina again. With M*l just up and leaving without even looking back, I wouldn't blame Alina if she felt used and feel like M*l didn't want to be around her. But when Aleks came back to kiss her again in 1x05, he showed her not just how much he wanted her, how much that moment of intimacy they had just shared meant something to him, but also how hard it was for he to leave her in that moment. She also would have felt it in the way he was reluctant to even going to open the door when Ivan first knocked on it, Aleks doesn't even go to answer it until I think like the third knock. Obviously seeing Aleks' reluctance to even move an inch away from her to go open a door would make Alina feel desirable and loved, which would only have been increased when Aleks comes back to kiss her again because he just needs her once more before he leaves, like he needed that kiss to give him the strength to actually tear himself away from her. The way M*l leaves her is so very different and so much colder than the way Aleks leaves her, and I know which way I would want to part from my lover after sharing an intimate moment with them.

[nerves-nebula]

yeah childhood neglect just.. sucks. I agree emotional neglect hits harder because like, you can always learn how to drive but you can't get back those years of being emotionally worth nothing (heavy quotations there because everyone is important).

I get you so much on the self taught stuff, like any skills I've learnt are things I taught myself (minus things I had to do for parents). Sewing, writing, drawing, cooking, cleaning, minor knitting, etc I learned by watching someone do it once or twice and copying it with whatever materials I could find (stray strings from clothes, stuff found on the ground, etc). I researched things when I could so I could be all my homework help, never asked for advice or whatever. Even taught myself how to tie my shoes (something my parents are proud of).

It's stupid adults are out here having kids they have no plan to raise and then dumping them into the wild with trauma they shouldn't have to deal with. I hope you get all the support you need and that you never find yourself in such a situation ever again. Best of luck too with your homework too!

YEAH. To all of this. My parents taught us the basics of reading/writing (and by taught i mean gave us books and got mad if we didn't do it right)

Like I'd never say I taught myself to write in front of my mom cause she'd get pissed about all the time spent forcing me to copy letters, or whatever, but in all the ways that really matter I DID teach myself to write. BECAUSE I WROTE STORIES FOR FUN.

ALSO like i've said before, sometimes I'd just not learn shit. I didn't know how to tie my shoes for forever cause everyone kept insisting on some bullshit with a bunny and a rabbit hole like... i just told you i didn't understand why are you trying to show me again???? I think I didn't learn to tie my shoes until I was like ...9 to 12? ( its hard to remember cause I didn't know my exact age for a while)

and when I finally did learn, it was cause someone- I can't for the life of me remember who- was FINALLY like "oh there's a wayyyy easier way to do it let me show you!"

AND THEY WERE RIGHT. AND I LEARNED IT BASICALLY INSTANTLY.

AND YET. MY DAD WAS STILL PISSED, cause to him I hadn't REALLY learned to tie my shoes???? I was doing like a fake EASY way of tying shoes which is fucking INSANEeEEEeeEE. BECAUSE YOU CAN BARELY TELL THE DIFFERENCE ONCE THEY'RE TIED. AND IT GETS THE JOB DONE.

BUT when he noticed me tying my shoes weird he gave me this death glare like I was doing something wrong, like MAN do you just NOt want me to know shit?? clearly this is what works for me!

anyway sorry about the ramble about shoelaces uhhhhhh this ask just sparked something in me.