#have their own? names? like what I mean is a way to distinguish the two bc imo they could end up becoming different people

[dapndots]

Ya like cake?

Anyway I think I’m just gonna call this finished, satisfied with the endings I got and ready for the second game

[kenziesimsblog]

SIMS 3 HIGH SCHOOL STEROTYPE LEGACY

hi guys! I decided to make my very own legacy for sims 3! I hope you enjoy it as much as I do!

some traits are repeated because they fit!

GEN 1-EMO

you never really fit in when you lived in your small town so as soon as you became a young adult you moved to the bustling city where you began a new alternative band.

traits - over-emotional, loner, virtuous, shy, and night owl

lifetime wish-rock star

career- music

requirements

must fall in love with another emo. -must name kids after alternative band members / singers, albums or songs.

must have fun colored hair. -must have piercing (s)

dye hair at least 3 times during each life stage

must complete lifetime wish.

master guitar skill

start a band. -must be close to bandmates

perform every or most gig you get. -reach level 5 celeb status

GEN 2-POPULAR

you are the exact opposite of your parent but hey when you're the kid of a famous band member you're bound to be popular.

traits- diva, irresistible, social butterfly, party animal, and flirty

lifetime wish- super popular..

career-any

requirements must have 2 best friends. choose either being a mean popular or a nice one. throw tons of parties be in at least 3 relationships before finding the one. marry the nerdiest person. master the charisma skill. don't lose any friends. chat with friends at least once week have at least 1 boy and 1 girl

GEN 3-NERD

your parent always taught you to be yourself and to show how smart you are!

traits - genius, bookworm, socially awkward, eccentric, and loser

lifetime wish- perfect student

career- scientist requirements always have an "A" in school go to university. earn your degree with a perfect GPA. earn a scholarship. be a strict parent. if kid has lower than a yell at them meet your partner in university. make kids have daily chores. make kids have curfew of 7. master logic skill master inventor skill

GEN 4- THE CLASS CLOWN

your parent was super strict and you vowed to never be like them

traits good sense of humor, rebellious, easily impressed, inappropriate,and friendly.

lifetime wish- distinguished director.

career- director

requirements have a bad relationship with your parents. have a "D" in school. always pull pranks on school and home become a director for comedies (pretend) master street art skill have at least 1 girl steal partner from someone else

GEN 5- HORSE GIRL

horses, horses, horses that's all you talk about traits - equestrian, loves the outdoors, ambitious, athletic ,and lucky

lifetime wish- the jockey

career- none all your time is spent with horses

requirements have a horse as a child. must be female. have at least 2 horses ride them every day. marry a cowboy/cowgirl. enter racing. live in a farmhouse. master riding skill have 1 kid that you have a bad relationship with.

GEN 6-BULLY

your mom only paid attention to her horses and not you resulting in a bully

traits- evil, mean spirited , grumpy, brooding, and coward

lifetime wish- ceo of mega corporation

career - business requirements be hated by everyone. have one "friend" that is a sidekick. get pregnant or impregnate a one-night stand. have baby in your household. co parent with one night stand even though you hate it. marry one night stand at middle/end of adult life. have one more child/ or multiples before you reach elder status. at least perform two mean actions a day

GEN 7- GAMER

your parents didnt care what you did they spent to much time hating each other so what better way to distract your self then video games

traits- couch potato, computer whiz, heavy sleeper, night owl and loner

lifetime wish- blog artist

career - video game developer

requirements attend university to master nerd social group. drop out when maxed nerd group. marry college sweetheart. cheat on college sweetheart with person you met online. have one kid with college sweetheart.

have more with new partner play video games every day. run a blog about games. master logic skill

GEN 8- THEATER KID

you spent all of your childhood watching plays dreaming one day it would be you

traits- star quality, natural born performer , hopeless romantic , dramatic, and ambitious

lifetime wish- superstar actor.

career- actor

requirements name kids after real life actors woohoo 5 celebs. complete lifetime wish. get pregnant by 3 different celebs. have at least 3 kids have a bad reputation. ruin your reputation at least once. never get married. spoil your kids.

GEN 9- JOCK

you lived in a booming town with a big gym where you spent most of your time

traits- handy, athletic, vegetarian, green thumb, and daredevil

lifetime wish- become a superstar athlete.

career- athletic

requirements master lifetime wish. be a vegetarian. have a garden of healthy vegetables. workout everyday max gardening skill max handy skill max athletic skill meet partner at gym. have a big family (4 kids)

GEN 10-ARTSY

traits- artistic, avant garde, adventurous, perfectionist, virtuoso

lifetime wish-master of arts

career- self employed artist

requirements master guitar skill master painting skill travel to different countries for inspiration meet partner in another country. perform for tips. sell paintings. at least always have one animal in house house is very colorful. do photography on the side. master lifetime wish. go out with family every holiday.

be sure to tag me in posts if you decide to play!

[enkas-illusion]

Double Trouble

Fandom / Pairing: Jujutsu Kaisen / Gojo Satoru x f!reader

Rating: SFW

Genre/Theme: Established relationship; non-sorcery au

Content warning: fluff, suggestive, no smut, language.

Summary: Boyfriend!Satoru with a twin and they're exact copies of each other, down to their mannerism so they often switch places just to test how long it takes for you to figure out you're talking to the other one.

Author's Note: The one where he isn’t the only Honoured one. I hope you enjoy this one shot. Thank you for reading! 

~ Eren’s Birdie

Song Dedication: Say Yes by Loco, Punch

Satoru Gojo was everything you could've asked for in a partner. He was kind, funny, intelligent, sexy, and had better emotional maturity than most men despite being somewhat of a nihilist in his own way – perfect was the word to describe him.

The only problem was that he was a bit too much to handle at times, or dare one say, a bit *too many, – meaning his mother gave birth to him and thought ‘he's perfect!’ so she popped another xerox copy 2 minutes later.

And thus were born Satoru and Soichiro, the most identical twins in the history of twins. The two not only shared the same face but had gained quite some notoriety among friends and family for sharing the same brain cell as well. 

While you had no reason to complain about their flawless personalities, they'd taken a liking to mess with you each time they got together. One would think they'd go easy with the pranks if it's someone they love, right? Wrong! It meant the shit you had to endure was way worse than any other normal friend would have to.

On one such instance, Soichiro tagged along with Satoru after work and it wasn't until halfway through dinner that your instinct went off and you figured out it was the twin who was sitting next to you instead of your boyfriend as usual. Later that night, you'd warned Satoru about it, presenting a solid argument even he couldn't resist.

“You know I almost grabbed his thigh under the table tonight!”

“No, you didn't,” Satoru scoffed.

“Okay, maybe not. But it’s highly likely that I could've! Ummm… what if one day you return home and I greet you in some skimpy lingerie but instead of you, it’s your brother who sees me, all titties out???” You were grasping at straws really.

“Will you do that!?” His ears perked up.

“Not the point, Toru…”

“Hmm… okay fine, I won't let it get that far,” he assured you. 

“But you'll still continue to tease me?” You huffed and he nodded his head, smiling innocently. You rolled your eyes at him, complaining about how he was the ‘worst’ while he simply gave you a bear hug and a few kisses to make it up to you.

~~~

So, even after being with Satoru for more than a year, you still did not know how to distinguish between the two. The only people to do so in a split-second were his parents. You had once sat the twins down to compare their faces for any tiny details you might’ve missed but you came up short regardless. 

You could only tell the difference by instinct, after having a conversation with them – maybe you were more delusional than you'd like to admit but to you, Satoru's voice held a lot of love each time he called your name.

In an attempt to distinguish the two, you thought you'd successfully managed to get Satoru to dye his hair black with temporary colour last time you went to their family house, only to find out Soichiro had done the same and was waiting for you, waving his arm at you in the driveway with a victorious grin.

So when you don't find the twin greeting you like a devil inviting you to hell this time, you turn to your boyfriend who's undoing his seatbelt.

“Listen to me, Satoru,” you grab his collar to turn him to look at you as you speak in a serious tone, “Please don't fuck with me this time. One of these days, I might really embarrass myself due to your games.”

“I'm betting on it baby,” he grins as he gives you a quick peck before swiftly making his way out of the car to avoid your scolding. You were going to stay at his parents’ country house for a weekend and you could already tell it was going to be a long weekend.

You sigh as you grab your bag and he opens the door for you before pulling the bag out of your hand and holding his hand out for you. It's impossible to be annoyed at Satoru for long when he pulls shit like this.

When you enter the house, Satoru excuses himself to find his father and you make your way to the backyard garden where you guess his mother might be. You smile to yourself when your guess is right.

“How can I help?” You smile, making his mother turn to look at you. She gently puts the shovel down next to the plants she's depotting.

“Hello dear, you've arrived just in time… would you mind bringing the remaining pots? They’re near the window in the reading room,” she instructs and you nod as you make your way back inside.

You walk the long corridor before you reach your destination, making your way to the window where the pots were placed. You lift two in each hand, holding them with care, trying not to drop them or stain your t-shirt. 

“Need some help?” you hear a voice and turn around to see the other twin at the door. The only reason you can tell it's Soichiro is because he's wearing a grey t-shirt and black sweatpants as opposed to your boyfriend who was wearing a purple hoodie and coal grey pants. 

“Hey Sochi, could you pick the last one?” You motion your head in the direction of the last pot, “Gotta move it to the garden.”

He nods before picking up the pot and walking with you, back to the backyard garden. 

“Did you arrive before us? I didn't see your car in the driveway,” you make conversation along the way.

“My car's out for servicing. I arrived with the mothership yesterday when she was in town shopping,” he explains.

“Hmm…” you nod as you stop near the area where the soil has been rooted out of the ground, “here.” 

You motion to him to keep the pot down and he obeys as he leans down to place them there gently. You're busy looking around to find Mrs. Gojo when you hear him speak, “Anything else, princes–”

Your eyes widen as your head snaps back to look at him.

“SATORU!” you gasp at the nickname that accidentally slips out of your boyfriend's name, making you realise it's not his twin.

“Soichiro! Leave my poor girl alone,” the other blondie walks out wearing the exact same clothes. You look between the two as you stare in disbelief, not being able to tell who's who.

You're about to speak when you hear their mom's voice as she moves closer to you, pressing an arm gently around your shoulder, “Satoru… I'd expect you of all people to be nice to her,” shaking her head at the twin standing next to you.

You were right! The twin next to you is Satoru!

“No, it's okay! The best way to deal with them is to avoid both of them the entire weekend,” you give your boyfriend the fakest smile you can muster up as you walk hand in hand with his mother to fulfil your gardening duties.

As it's the only exact identical matching outfit the twins have, they don't mind wearing it all weekend. As the day progresses, you find yourself working your brain full time to notice any difference you can find, but the guys are relentless to the point where even their sleeves are rolled to the exact same length.

And of course, the whole day is spent the way you’d dreaded and almost predicted it’d be like. Later when you’re out on the porch having coffee and watching the sunset with your boyfriend, you notice Satoru has an insect bite on the side of his wrist.

“Toru?” you question, wanting to make sure you have the right twin next to you.

“Hmm?” he peels his eyes away from the pretty sunset to look at you. 

“Kiss me?” you ask softly.

“Wha– is this a test?” He raises an eyebrow.

“You know what, nevermind… I just felt like it cause this is the first time we’ve been alone all d–” your words are cut off by his lips capturing yours. You smile into the kiss as Satoru cups your face, caressing your cheek.

Satoru check completed! You make a mental note to observe his wrist for the mark each time you interact with the twins.

After dinner when everyone's lazing around in the living room and watching whatever reality tv show is playing in the background, you excuse yourself to go to the washroom. Roaming around, you end up in Satoru's old bedroom. It's endearing seeing how you can still find pieces of his current personality, likes, hobbies and interests in bits, plastered everywhere around his room.

You find yourself craving some alone time with your boyfriend all of a sudden so you pull your phone out to text him to come up to his room. You only have to wait a few minutes before you hear a knock on the door.

“It's open,” you say as you place the book that you were holding back on the shelf. With a big grin, you extend your arm out to him and he takes it.

“Hello, darling,” he says in a playful tone and your eyes briefly glance at his wrist. No mark. It's Soichiro. He pulls you into a hug and pats your head.

Fine. If your boyfriend still wants to mess with you even when you’re needy for him, he's gonna get his payback. You decide at that moment – this switcharoo bullshit stops today.

You smile innocently at Soichiro as you pull away, your hands travel up to his chest to push him back till he falls on the bed.

You hop on top of him to straddle him but are careful enough to not actually make any sort of inappropriate contact, hovering above without closing the gap between your bodies. You simply wanted to push him enough to get him uncomfortable and to confess.

You can see the nervousness on his face as he clears his throat to come up with an excuse to get out of this situation without making it awkward, “T-the door’s open, let me–”

“It’s just us Toru… I doubt anyone’s gonna bother coming up to find us anyway,” you purr as you lean your body forward, placing your palms on the sides of his head to support your weight. You start feeling anxious too, you need him to break soon or you’d have to abandon the act, so you persist and whisper in his ear, “You look so sexy, I’ve been wanting to feel you inside me all day, Satoru.”

You cringe internally at your own words. But in that moment, you can see his face get paler than it usually is and you want to laugh at how nervous he looks when he hits his limit at your lewd comments.

“Wait, I’m no–” Soichiro pushes you by the shoulders as he begins in panic, another voice interrupts, pushing the half-open door forcefully, “Baby, wait!”

You feel a large arm hook around your waist to pull you away. As you stumble to your feet, breaking free from his hold, you turn around to see an annoyed Satoru, knitting his eyebrows as he looks at you. He looks more annoyed at himself than at you.

“Satoru?” you question as you bring up a hand to his cheek.

“Yes, baby?” he asks in that loving tone you’re so used to as he wraps his arms around your waist tighter.

You smile as you caress his cheek, trying hard to hold in your laughter, “What… A… Dumbass!”

You burst out laughing as you break free from his embrace and he stares at you in disbelief. You look from him to Soichiro, who’s already stood up from the bed as you hold your stomach, hurting from laughing so much, “That should teach you both!”

“Well then, I’m gonna go watch tv with the only two sensible people in this house,” you wave the baffled twins goodbye and turn around to leave the room. The very next second, you’re taken by surprise when you feel a hand grab your wrist to keep you from moving.

You turn around to see that your boyfriend seems… mad at you?

“Sochi, do you mind? I wanna talk to her alone,” Satoru motions his brother to leave the room.

“Yikes, just keep it quiet,” the twin chuckles in embarrassment as he walks out hastily. You hear the door close behind you before footsteps recede down the hallway.

You look at Satoru, expecting him to speak up. But your boyfriend simply grabs both of your wrists before twisting them behind your back and closes the distance between your bodies.

“Waitttt… is this Toru or Sochi? It is impossible to tell!” your words are dry and sarcastic as you giggle at him.

“Baby, I don’t think you’re in a position to be laughing at me right now,” he towers over you, his grip on your waists tightening.

“But here we are! I told you not to mess with me,” you chuckle as you try to wriggle your wrists out of his grip.

“And I’ve warned you not to press my buttons… or do I need to remind you again?” he grunts as he flips you around, walking you to the bed till your knees hit the edge of the bed, making you stumble on the mattress with him behind you. He brings a hand to the back of your head to press your face down into the mattress and you take this opportunity to try to hold him. He tsks at your movement before moving away from your completely.

You flip your body around to lie on your back and see what’s going on, only to find him rummaging through his closet. When Satoru turns around to walk back towards the bed, you notice two ties in his hands. 

This isn’t how you’d expected your little prank to turn out but you definitely weren’t complaining. However, just as Satoru straddles you, grabbing your wrists, his phone buzzes in his pocket.

“What?” he groans into the speaker.

“Mum’s calling you both downstairs,” you hear Soichiro’s voice on the other end.

You press your lips together to keep yourself from laughing as Satoru groans once again before cutting the call with a ‘be right there’.

“I think god sent a guardian angel disguised as your mom for me,” you chuckle as you sit up, making your way out from under him.

“You’re lucky,” Satoru grabs your jaw, “but don’t get ahead of yourself, guardian angel can't save you past her bedtime.”

You poke your tongue out to tease him, breaking free and springing out of the bed, mumbling a ‘whatever’, walking out towards the living room. 

As you make your way back down the hall, you hear your boyfriend’s footsteps behind you. You smile to yourself as you begin to brew different ideas of riling him up further throughout the night.

~fin~

[oonajaeadira]

Leave Off Your Wandering pt. 3: Autumn

Fandom: The Last of Us (TV)/ Joel Miller

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Reader: Adult female. Old enough to have been an adult on Outbreak Day. Wyoming born and bred. Sheep farmer, easy-going but confident and self-sufficient. Likes to sing, not a great cook. Childhood friend of Maria. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n.

Rating: T for now

Warnings: Angst. Canon-typical tragedy (not main characters). Childbirth. A few names that may twist a knife.

Summary: You give Joel a lot to think about.

A/N: Set after season 1 and then diverges. Does not acknowledge the existence of further plot/seasons, although I claim the right to steal ideas and bits of cannon from the second game if I want to for plot reasons later.

It takes a lot to gain Joel's trust, and even longer to tame him. Thanks for sticking it out this long. We're finally shifting into acceptance mode.

“No, they do not make you look old. They make you look like Joel Miller in glasses. Just like the last five pairs. These are distinguished.”

“Looks like something my old man would have worn.”

“Your dad must have been a stunner. Assume the position. Bottom line.”

Turning him by his shoulders, you square Joel up to the line on the floor across from the eye chart at the back of the Jackson commissary.

“P…E Z O L C…F…T D.”

You pass him a handwritten note. “Good. Now use the bottom half of the lenses to read this one. Do it without squinting.”

Taking the paper, he squints. You pull on his arm to distance it correctly and he stops. He stares at the paper for a while. You might be concerned at the pause if he wasn’t taking a comically elongated time, breathing out hard through his nose, his jaw ticking left to right, feigning decisions, trying not to laugh. “Gimme a pencil.”

Without taking your eyes off him, you reach over to the counter and snag a pencil out of a cup and hand it to him, watch his eyebrows lift, his head shake, and give another dramatic sigh as he marks the paper before handing both the note and the pencil back over to you.

Joel Miller, will you go to the harvest dance with me? [x] yes or [ ] no.

“I don’t think these are gonna work,” he points to the black frames on his face. “Can’t read a damn thing. Not one damn word–” He can’t even make it through the sentence without cracking a smile, and only fully laughs when you playfully punch him in the arm.

“I’ll have you know this is a binding contract whether you can see it or not,” you join him in the tease, fanning the note in his face. “Just how blind are you???”

“Well, maybe I was working up to asking you the same question so…I guess not as blind as you seem to think.”

This slowly melts your laughter down to a smile. “Working up to it? What’s there to work up to? You mean… Did you…not want to?”

When his own smile fades, you realize too late that maybe he didn’t.

While you and Joel have fallen into a close friendship over the past few months, sometimes that’s all it really seems to be. There are moments that come close to something more–an arm draped over the back of your chair–or perhaps across your shoulders–as you stand in the back yard watching the fireflies, always a ready hand to help you up from a chair or the ground. If the two of you are ever in the same room, he’s always near, keeping you on his left where he can hear you. It took a while, but both Joel and Ellie have just stopped knocking when they come by, treating your house as they do Maria and Tommy’s–like family.

There are times he smiles in that way where his eyes shimmer and you think he’s coming around to falling for you. But he never pushes for more and you are beginning to wonder if he even wants that. After all, you’d learned from Tommy what life in a QZ can do to a person….and that’s on top of all the years the brothers spent surviving in some of the most violent and criminal ways possible.

Sometimes when you all sit out on Maria’s porch after dinner and watch the sunset together, he might take your hand in one of his–big, warm, roughened but gentle. And it’s at those times you almost forget about how he’d used it in the past. Almost.

With his bare hands, Tommy had said. Just come up behind ‘em and squeeze.

It takes time to become someone else. You always knew you’d need patience.

You just never braced yourself for something….a little less than affection.

“Listen, Songbird,” he sighs, his jaw shifting hard to one side. “I don’t want you to think–”

“Oh yeah, lookin’ goooooood,” Ellie’s opinion precedes your notice of her entrance. “Hey there, professor. I was looking for a book on relativity. Any suggestions?”

Pushing the glasses up the bridge of his nose, he ignores her sass and turns instead to the commissary register to mark down the inventory he’s taking. “Aren’t you supposed to be with Maria?”

“Yeah,” she shrugs, picking up an earthenware mug from a shelf and admiring the owl painted on it. “Her water broke. Baby’s coming. Can I claim this mug?”

“What??” Your body jerks, ready to run, but just barely holding back, shifting all the dismay you were just collecting and using it to power a new anxiety.

Joel’s head whips around, the glasses staying mercifully in place. “What are you doin’ looking for us? Go get Dr. Johnson!”

“Unclench yourself, my good sir. I already did. Went to her–” she says to him and then winks to you,”-- and Willa, thank you very much. You two didn’t tell me where you were going, you think I’m dumb enough to spend time hunting you down first? I’d be looking up and down Main forever. Have been. Almost went out back to see if you were eating spaghetti in the alley with one long noodle between you. Baby’s probably already here by now, jeez.” She spins on her heel, tapping the mug with a finger. “I’m taking this, thanks.”

Joel exchanges a look with you, the former conversation shoved roughly aside for a new concern. “I’ll register it and grab a few other necessaries. You go.”

This is no time to pick up the dropped dialogue but… maybe…should you stay and help? Oh. It takes a second to click that you can leave it to him. You don’t have to tell the man what’s needed for a new baby…after all, he knows more than you. Even if it was a whole other life or two ago.

And with a nod, you shelve your feelings for one more day and jog out the door to catch up with Ellie.

_____

Willa’s just walking out the door by the time you get to Maria and Tommy’s.

“You’re going?”

“For now,” she nods, working her shoes back onto her feet. “She’s got a while to go. It looks like it will be a pretty straightforward labor.”

“Did Dr. Johnson have anything to say?”

Her exhale tests high for irritation. “She’s upstairs. Why not go ask her yourself.”

“Wait. Willa. Did she send you away? I didn’t want to call her, but Joel thought–”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’m going to go take a nap so I can get through the night. But she’s using up all the air in the room and what Maria needs is to rest as much as she can and let it come. A good midwife would know that. Too bad the medical authority in this town is a gastroenterologist and not an obstetrician. It’s a baby and she’s treating it like an obstructed bowel.” Muttering something further about obstructions and matters of the bowel in regards to Dr. Johnson, Willa pats you on the shoulder before making her exit. “Maria can have water for a couple more hours, then sips only. Make sure she eats something.”

Upstairs you find your old friend in full concentration mode–laying on her bed, eyes closed, breathing hard, forehead smooth but glistening–as she awaits the next contraction. Tommy’s curled up next to her, holding one of her hands, his forehead to her temple, matching her breath for breath.

Her other hand is being held aloft as the good Doctor checks her pulse. “Family only,” she condescends as you enter the room.

“Good idea,” you say, plonking down at the end of the bed with enough of a bounce that Maria opens her eyes and glares from behind her belly. When you point to her swollen feet and let your eyebrows request consent, she nods, shuts her eyes, and focuses back on the process as you take a foot onto your lap and start to massage.

Maria groans in contentment and Dr. Johnson takes it for discomfort. Turning to you, her silvery hair pulled back into a tight braid, her frown causes her jowls to deepen. “I really must insist that you clear the room. The fewer distractions she has, the better things are going to go for her.”

You pull your stockinged feet up onto the bed. “Is that how it was when you had kids?”

“I never had children,” the doctor snaps.

“I see. Well, Maria said she was gonna freak out if I wasn’t here, so it seems now we’ve got ourselves a conundrum between what the doctor says and the patient wants. But, seeing as how this is her second child and she is very much my family, I think I’m going with her wishes on this. I never got to meet the first one; I’m sure as hell not gonna miss a minute of my new godchild.”

“Who said you were going to be the godmother?” Maria grumbles.

“I did. It’s your own fault. You left the position open and nature abhors a vacuum, so I’m gonna plug my old ass into that hole.”

“You are mixing so many metaphors there. Where’s–nnnnn,” her face becomes a wall of teeth as the contraction hits, her body a live wire as you and Tommy move to soothe. It takes a good minute for her breathing to slow enough to ask, “Where’s…Willa?”

“She says she’ll check back in tonight. You’ll probably be at this awhile.”

“Well, then, if you’ve got your magic healing woman then I’m not really needed here,” Dr. Johnson’s smile only travels halfway up her face. “Blood pressure’s doing well, no signs of abnormality. I’m sure you’ll be just fine. If you need me, you know where to find me. Just send the foul-mouthed girl again. Certainly with a set of lungs like that, she can easily wake me up in a matter of minutes.”

Nobody stops the good doctor on her way out and the train of her passive-aggressive, attention-seeking attitude trails behind her.

“She means well,” Tommy answers your scathing look.

“Your wife didn’t ask for her.”

“My wife’s never been through labor without drugs before. And she’s older now. I just…” his eyes soften on her with concern as he leans in and presses a kiss to Maria’s forehead, “I just want her to be okay.”

“She’s Maria. Of course she will be.”

The subject groans with a minor cramp. “Stop talking about me like I’m not here and go make me a taco. I’m starving.”

She’s less than thrilled with the berries you bring instead– “water and fiber now, carbs later” –but is placated with you reading her to sleep from one of her favorite Amy Tan novels. Every now and then she wakes up with a contraction, but a little soothe in your voice and she’s out again.

After a few hours, Tommy goes to nap in a spare room and Willa returns with a bag full of clean linens, ready to take over, sending you out to get your own nap in.

It’s quiet downstairs, the setting sun throwing long shadows through the western windows, mixing with a few faint rainbows still filtering through the leaded stained glass over the door.

Maria’s not far from you in age. If there were still doctors in hospitals, they’d call her pregnancy not just geriatric, but advanced geriatric. Even with all the medicine that used to be available, she and the baby would still be under the care of several wary eyes. If they both make it, they’ll have beaten the odds. If they don’t–

Slumping down on the couch and pouring yourself over it–just to put your feet up and your head down for a second…just a second–you push worry out of your orbit. This isn’t a world to worry in anymore. What comes comes. All you can do is what you can do. Maria is strong. Tommy loves her. Willa’s capable. The baby’s on time. Everything’s going to be fine.

It has to be.

It hurts too much to consider an alternative.

_____

When your eyes open again, the house is dark and quiet, the sun long since set.

Although, not so quiet when your stomach growls. Nor so dark either, as you notice a faint glow coming from the kitchen.

A simple investigation leads you to a tea candle burning in a jar on the countertop, next to a scrap of paper with your name scrawled on it and a plate covered in a linen dishcloth, under which you discover a flatbread sandwich.

One look at the handwriting and you can imagine Joel coming by to check up on things only to find you asleep on the couch. There was no gentle-but-possibly-disruptive blanket-covering, no “thought you could use something to eat” beside your name on the note. Nothing but reverent candlelight and one word to let anyone who found the plate know for whom it was intended, no requests or commands, just a quiet devotion, a simple offering to a sleeping idol to be taken or left as you chose.

If he doesn’t want you to fall any harder for him, he’s doing a terrible job.

_____

The final labor comes the following morning, Tommy holding one of Maria’s hands and you the other–both of you gritting your teeth as her grip leaves bruises–and Willa holding the soles of Maria’s feet, giving her something to push against.

Joel’s been tasked with guarding the door to the house since Maria’s taken to screaming with each push–not in pain, but in ferocity–and the neighbors have been coming around in concern. He’s quick to turn them around and send them on their way and you’ve gathered from Ellie’s reports that they seemed offended until she started volunteering the information that Willa is upstairs helping out. Then everyone readily accepts that all is well and being taken care of.

But Maria, she’s the real star of the show here. Yes, she’s in pain, and yes, she’s tired and weeping–no tears, dehydrated–but she’s nothing if not a fighter. She wouldn’t be in Jackson without that being true. And, frankly, Jackson wouldn’t be Jackson if it weren’t true either.

When it’s all done and the delivery miraculously comes off without a hitch, when Willa checks the baby boy over and finds him responsive and healthy, ties him off and hands him over to Tommy, taking her leave to go wash up and rest, the room is eerily quiet.

“Hello, little man. I’m your dad,” Tommy whispers, on the edge of tears but too tired to cry as he sits next to Maria and shares the bundle with her, the two of them staring down in awe at the tiny new human. “I’m your dad, and this is your beautiful, strong, fantastic mamma. And your auntie’s here too and we’re all damn happy to meet you. Welcome home.”

Maria smiles wide, the pain already fading to memory, an unnecessary detail she’s gonna leave behind her in exchange for exponentially better days ahead.

“Good job, you three.” Adding to the kiss count on Maria’s head, you start to pick up some discarded towels and sheets, preparing to leave the new family to rest. “Did you finally agree on a name?”

“Oh, I think I settled early on,” Maria sighs, completely in love. “Riley.”

You hum in satisfaction. “Nice. Where’d that one come from?”

“Ellie suggested it and it just hit me right. It’s a good name for a boy or girl, but mostly I liked it because it’s a fighting name. All riled up and ready to go.”

“Sounds like trouble.”

Maria snorts. “Oh, I’m sure. After all, he is a Miller.”

“Damn right,” Tommy whispers, bestowing his legacy.

It’s an easy decision to make, your vow of silence. You’ll never let them know you feared losing her. Not when there’s more now to protect, more to love.

There's been enough fear. It isn't worth your time.

_____

Over the next week and change, a routine easily emerges. You make yourself available during the day for any needs–help with cooking, diaper washing, or just rocking Riley while Maria has a bath or Tommy needs a nap. After school, Ellie comes by and adds two more hands, truly turning childrearing into a village affair. Joel’s the last to add to the party after the sun starts getting low and construction on the new district slows down for the day, earlier if it’s his day for patrol. Every night is family dinner night now and sometimes Riley’s actually awake enough to join them.

Ellie can’t get enough of her new little friend. If she’s got empty hands she willingly fills them with baby, either rocking him or laying him on a cushion to watch him watching her. She’s not had a lot of experience with babies or newborns other than the lambs, but she’s a quick learner. It’s just one more thing that this harder world has deprived her of. Babies were few and far between in the QZ and Ellie seems bound and determined to make up for lost time, not wanting to miss an instant of growth or change.

Joel, on the other hand, is more stoic. If he was hard of hearing before, it almost completely disappears when Riley’s in the crook of his arm. He can’t help but be captivated by his new nephew and you catch a fond smile creeping along his cheek now and then, but there’s always something a little sad behind it, and when the light catches a glimmer off the face of his broken wristwatch, it’s not hard to guess what he’s thinking.

It’s during one of these moments when Maria’s napping and Ellie and Tommy are out in the yard, that you finish up the dishes and plop yourself down on the couch next to Joel.

“Your arm tired? Want me to take him?”

“No. I’m fine,” he says quietly, trying not to wake the boy. But the silence is more for himself than the baby–Riley sleeps hard. For now.

You simply draw a knee up onto the couch and lean your elbow against the back cushion, watching them, chin in hand.

“Where’s Ellie?” he finally asks.

“Enough leaves are down. Tommy’s out back showing her how to make a leaf pile. And what to do with it.”

He chuckles, knowing exactly what’s proper and good to do with leaf piles. “We used to have a big maple out back when we were kids. Dad spent hours raking and nothing he could say or do could keep us from demolishing his work. Whip our hides and we'd be back out there the next day making a mess.”

“Well, at least lawn maintenance isn’t such a priority anymore, right? Just think of all the leaf piles this one’s gonna get. Let the destruction commence.”

“Yeah.” It’s slow and subtle, but the light slowly leaks from him, a twilight descending over his brow. “I guess there’s still a few pleasures to be had for kids in this world.”

This is why he’s always so contemplative with Riley. Worrying. Taking everything he’s seen and experienced and piling them onto one little baby, doing the parent thing, hoping that they’ll have a better life…but doubting that it could ever happen.

“There’s always going to be something, Joel. If the world hadn’t gone to hell, there’d still be car accidents and kidnappers and war in some far off country and the capitalist job market. A kid has every chance to have a good life in this time as in any other. And even if it isn’t in the world we remember, this one has you and me and all of us in it to look after one little boy who gets to live a life. Isn’t that what’s great?”

“Is it?” He finally turns to you. “You think it’s a good idea to bring a kid into this disaster?”

His eyes lay bare the puncture you’ve made in him, his sorrow and apprehension starting to vent, and it seems he hopes you can patch the hole because god knows his hands are full and not steady enough to handle the delicate procedure.

“Hey. Kids are going to happen, Joel. People are still going to find each other and fall in love and I hate to break it to you, but babies are sometimes a consequence of that. Biology’s a hell of a thing. But just because it’s not the world we knew as kids doesn’t mean it’s not worth living in. In fact, Ellie and Riley are going to do better than us, because they were born into it. They’ll have all of this kind of living in their bones from birth and don’t have to take twenty years to relearn it all. Or use up twenty years living life with regret.”

You expect him not to take that well, but he surprises you, softens, and turns back to the baby, his eyes skipping to his watch.

Maria told you once that sometimes she’s glad that Kevin died. He was still young–only 3 and a half–but he would have remembered. He would have held trauma. Back then, a lot of the little ones were lost, either to hunger or to attack…they didn’t know enough to be quiet.

Sarah on the other hand…. Joel didn’t know it, but Tommy had said once that Sarah would have never made it in this world. Too good. Trusting. Gentle. She would have been taken advantage of or become severely damaged by the shift coming in her formative years. Children are resilient, but a teenager’s psyche could be a difficult thing.

“Still not a good idea,” he mumbles. “But he’s here now.”

“Thank god. Maria needed another man in her life to boss around.”

He’s not budged by your joke. Instead, he side-eyes you, hits you with a cynical question, trying to knock you off your rosy pedestal. “If you’re so happy about kids, why don’t you have any of your own?”

You shrug. “Got sheep. What. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what.”

“Not every woman wants kids, Mr. Man. Even if they like them a whole lot.”

“Biology’s a hell of a thing.”

Catching his not-so-clever info gathering, you smirk. “I had other things to concentrate on. And in the meantime, the factory had blessedly closed down.”

He can’t help the instinct that makes him truly assess you now. “You’re not old enough for that.”

You chuckle. “I’m starting to think what you don’t know about women could fill a few books, Joel Miller. You let me know when you’re ready to brush up.”

It’s at this point that Ellie calls in from the porch, telling Joel to “get your flat ass out here! Tommy says you’re a champion leaf-piler!”

“Goddammit,” he hisses as Riley starts to stir.

“Go on,” you smile, holding your arms out for the baby. “I’ve got him. We’ll need to wake his mamma up so he can eat soon anyway. Go on outside and play with the other kids. Be home before dark.”

_____

A few nights later, you’re making assessment in a full-length mirror on the inside of a closet door in a room in your house you very barely use. When was the last time you really had a look at yourself? And when was the last time you wore a dress?

Sure, it’s a fall dress, fine-knit by Addie as a gift for bringing her on as a Roostling so many years ago. You keep it for special occasions, which means you get to wear it maybe once a year. The wool is undyed, so the natural oat goes well with your brown leather work boots. Unfortunately, shoes are at a premium, so having a second pair just for fancy isn’t really a thing anymore. Doesn’t matter. The weather’s been a bit wet and the streets a bit muddy. Boots’ll do you just fine.

But you haven’t worn your hair like this in ages. Freshly washed and let to dry rather than set back or under a bandanna for utilitarian purposes, you almost forgot what it looked like natural like this.

You almost forgot that you could actually clean up quite pretty. Huh. Imagine forgetting a thing like that.

The knock at the front door’s expected. Even though Ellie and Joel come and go as they please, tonight you knew he’d do the polite thing and knock. The comfortable part of you wants to call down and tell him to just come in. But the hopeful part of you knows that this is his way of making an effort. Of taking a step your way.

“You sure?” you’d asked Maria earlier in the afternoon. “You’re gonna be okay for the night?”

“It’s a dance, not a trip to the moon. And Ellie’s here. We’ll have fun.”

Ellie rolled her eyes, clearly not happy about diaper changing duty, but smiling through it. “Please. Go. Get him out of the house. The later he comes home the better. Bonus points if he’s not back until morning.”

“Jesus, Ellie.”

Maria only smirked in full agreement.

He’s waiting on your porch when you open the door, one thumb tucked into his belt, the other holding onto a porch pillar as he examines the sole of one boot.

“You step in something?”

“Shit, I hope not. I just cleaned these. I thought–” but of course he stops when he looks up and sees you. Joel himself doesn’t have a lot of extra clothes, and is dressed in a clean dark flannel and jeans, nothing you haven’t seen before–although tucked in this time–his hair is still wet and slicked back, exposing more of the gray.

Your getup, however, is a new sight for him, and he’s struck enough to let it show on his face. So you give him a twirl, let the dress swing a bit. “Get your fill, I only bring this out like once a year. You’ve earned it this time.”

The smile is subtle, but it’s there, along with the tiniest of nods.

It’s not a long walk to the mess hall, but on your way you both determine that Joel’s definitely stepped in something, and yes, it’s still worth holding his hand. Horses are gonna horse and stepping in crap is an everyday occurrence when you live around animals at the end of the world. He seems grateful and maybe a bit chagrined, but neither does he seem ready to let you go.

The mess hall’s brightly lit; several jack-o-lanterns carved by the town’s kids adorn the long tables which spill out into the street to make room for the buffet and the dancefloor inside. A good portion of the town is out tonight and mingling under the canopy of string lights.

Addie and Goldie are the first to find you and greet you, the former admiring her own handiwork on your dress–even if she’s much improved over the years–and the latter pushing mugs of warm cider at you and Joel. Willa, it seems, took to the Roost short after Riley’s birth, always opting to take solitary watch during big gatherings and celebrations. But she did help with the decorations and is responsible for a good portion of the cornbread on the banquet table. When they start asking questions about the baby, Joel politely excuses himself, muttering something about getting you a plate.

“And how’re you doing?” Goldie asks, nodding after Joel. “I didn’t think that grump would warm up to anyone, but I suppose you’re tenacious enough when you want someone. I don’t blame you. Grey Fox indeed. If I was twenty years older, we’d have to share.”

“Yeah, he’s coming around.”

“Didn’t think you’d ever take up with anyone again. I heard Ellie had a run-in with the lye.”

A sudden lump rises, nothing you can’t swallow down. “She’s fine. And so am I. Maybe I'm a little lonely is all. Maybe I got a type. Here’s to hoping I’m wrong where it counts!” You smile wide, clinking your mug with Goldie’s and drink deep, chasing away whatever guilt rudely decided to come calling.

Tonight’s supposed to be happy. Tonight’s your night with Joel. Just you and him. No family, no interruptions. The past is the past. And this night is easily the first of many.

Soon enough you catch him waving you down at one of the tables and join him for dinner.

“Figured you weren’t picky, so I got you some of everything.”

“Hells bells, Foxy. Were you planning on dancing with me at all tonight? Because I won’t be able to move if I eat all of this.”

At least he swallows what he’s chewing so he can answer you between forkfuls. “Don’t worry. I’ll eat what you don’t.”

“Then how are you gonna dance?”

He shrugs. “Didn’t plan on gettin’ rowdy. Not with these knees.”

“Oh my god, you old man. Did you really come here with me just to sit and eat? There’s a band playing. And they’re good. You’re not gonna dance with me?”

“To be honest,” he says, straining above the chatter spilling out of the hall and taking another bite of chicken, getting it mostly down before continuing with a pained squint, “I was never good at it. One of those ‘stand around with a beer and watch the band play’ kinda guys. But a pretty girl wanted me to slow dance, I could do that. More swaying than anything.”

“Well I guess that’s something to look forward to then.”

“Good thing you’re easy to please.”

It’s another hour sitting at the communal table, the night settling in and the fiddle and guitar music rolling out from inside the hall. A few friends come by to visit, Missy Tippett makes her way to Joel’s right side to flirt and he pretends to hear her, answering all questions with a “yep” even if they aren’t yes or no queries and you do your best not to laugh. True to his word, Joel takes on the leavings of your meal–nearly half the plate–while you chat with folks, and he rises beautifully to the challenge. Without having to scrape and scramble in the QZ or starving out in the wilds, he’s put on weight since the spring, just enough to fill out his hollowed cheeks and pleasantly soften down his belly. He keeps active with the construction enough that he’s putting away more fuel than storage, but it’s good to see him enjoying the harvest.

You’re mid-conversation with one of Willa’s brothers when Joel taps a knuckle on your elbow. Turning to find him with his chin in his hand, he points inside of the mess hall where a slow song just started, an old Buddy Holly tune, True Love Waits. The time has come then. Like the worn shoe that he is, he gets up and re-tucks his shirt as you excuse yourself and then let him lead you inside to the dance floor.

He’s an old-schooler, guiding you close around your waist and taking your hand in one of his.

In all the time Joel and Ellie have been in Jackson what you’ve felt toward him was a strong pull, a crush, an attraction. It’s been years since you felt drawn to someone like this. But it isn’t until this moment that you actually register the ramp up and learn that your species of butterflies don’t really seem to reside in your belly, but behind your sternum. The tip of your nose and chin tingle with the proximity to his, his breath warm and apple-scented, his flannel smelling of soap and being dried in the sun. His hand fits perfectly at your lower back and your arm was made to curve up and around his sturdy, ample shoulder.

It’s that feeling where you can’t seem to look him in the eye for more than a fraction of a second for fear of losing control, and so you focus on his chin instead, yearning to land your lips there.

It takes most of the song to realize he’s doing the same with the top of your head.

You should say something; it feels odd not to be poking fun somehow. But then, you can’t think of a damn thing to say now that you’re exactly where you’ve been wanting to be all these many months. Well, nothing witty anyway.

“It’s been forever since I slow danced with anyone.”

“Out of choice, I assume,” he answers after a while. “Seems odd you being here so long and not spoken for.”

“Not everyone has to be paired up for life to be worth living.”

“Maybe not. But it looks like you want to and I’m not sure how anyone says no to you if you set your sights. You’re damn persistent.”

The song ends and you break to applaud, ready to quip back. But there’s a look on his face, and expression that you’re not able to categorize in the context of this moment, only that it looks like he might want to leave or be alone.

“Joel, I’m sorry if I pushed you. I know you’re still settling in. I didn’t mean to–”

But the next song starts up, sweet and slow–You Belong To Me–and he doesn’t give you a chance to finish. He just pulls you in close, tucking your head against his shoulder under his jaw, taking your hand again and holding it against himself.

“I’m settled,” is all he says as you sway.

Determination. That’s the expression. A commitment laced with lingering sadness or fear.

And that’s okay, you think. After everything he’s been through, that’s okay. As long as he wants to be here with me, everything’s going to be okay.

At the end of the song he peels away, and while the expression has softened, it still remains.

You reach for his hand. “You wanna walk?”

He nods. You let him lead.

Outside in the crisp autumn night air, he doesn’t take the direct path to your house, instead, he ambles slowly down another road, toward Maria and Tommy’s place.

Joel’s a thinker. He’s got things to say but needs to put them in order in his head first. So you let him organize while you walk slowly beside him, the light and the pretty violin ballad fading behind you. It takes a little longer than you expect and you’re almost to the house when he finally speaks.

“I’m not good at this.”

“You say that like there’s one right way. Like I’m expecting something out of you.”

It’s obviously not what he expected you to say. “But you are.”

“Okay, maybe. But I’m also willing to meet you where you are.”

“No, that’s not what…” he breathes out hard, frustrated that his thoughts are getting out of order, but you wait. “You should be…expecting…something. You should want me to…reciprocate.”

“I do want that, but I can’t force you and I know it.” You amble on, watch his jaw tick. “Joel, I’m crazy about you and I’d love nothing more than for you to feel the same way about me. It’s been a long time since I felt that way about someone. But I know it’s different for you. I know you were more recently attached, and for a long time–”

“It wasn’t like that. Well…wasn't like this, anyway.”

You follow him silently past Maria and Tommy’s place–dark, everyone asleep–and take a turn that will eventually lead you to your own house. A block goes by before he finds his next words.

“Tess and I…our lives…we were…rough with each other. Cared for each other, but we were hard. We had to keep on our toes, couldn’t let feelings get in the way or make mistakes. But all that…stuff… We had each other physically but we kept a lot at arm’s length. Like a survival mode. Conserving our energy for things that kept us alive. Safe.”

“I think I understand. Tommy said–”

“Tommy didn’t understand shit. He thought I was using Tess. But he was wrong.” Even if he’s keeping his voice even, his eyes cold, you can see his fist clenching and unclenching out of the corner of your eye. “I…I needed her and didn’t know it. She was right there and I should have… told her so. That’s what I think I’m saying. I don’t have any practice in anything that isn’t just surviving. And I don’t know if I can give you what you want.”

“Are you pulling a ‘you deserve better’ on me?”

Another look of surprise. Again, you’ve thrown him for a loop.

“Because I do deserve better. You’re right. I do deserve to be loved and to be adored and to be happy. But so do you. Most of us do. Doesn’t mean everyone’s gonna get it. Sounds like you spent the last decade and change denying it for yourself and to someone else. But at least you had someone. At least you knew where you stood. Me, on the other hand…I spent the last decade remembering something like that and wishing it would come back, knowing it wouldn’t, and beating off any chance of having it again like a damn fool. Maria ever tell you about Troy?”

His headshake is subtle, but his look of concern not so much. You decide to let it roll off you just as you had with everyone else in the past ten years.

“Figures. Tommy’s got a big mouth but Maria’s always kept her trap shut when it’s not her story to tell.

“Troy was my...husband. We were married for three really good years. He was a refugee, like you. Came through from Seattle QZ with his sister. Ash was a wild one, loved the sheep. She was the last trainee we had before Ellie came out. She had a habit of wandering though, hopping the barrier for berries and honey and just to run free in the woods without a care in the world. Almost cut her off from going out to the Meadow, but Troy spoiled her, took her side in most things. His only weakness. Damn, I loved that stupid man so much.”

Coming up to your house, you take a seat on the steps, not ready to go inside yet. As you continue, Joel follows your lead and ends up beside you.

“You ever wonder why Maria and I don’t live on top of one another? Troy and I lived in the house next door. Once he died, I couldn’t bear to live there anymore.”

The breeze picks up and you give it a minute to die down. Joel’s voice pushes through your silence just above a whisper. “What happened?”

“Troy and Ash were out at the meadow and they weren’t answering the check-ins. So Willa and I went out there with the patrol. Right away we see almost the whole herd gathered in one lay. Not like them unless they’re protecting a sick or injured one. And that’s what they were doing, all huddled around the hole.

“Can’t say for certain how it went down, but from the looks of things, Ash got herself bit, nearly took off her forearm. Back then the area wasn’t so cleared out and Ash liked to play her chances outside the barriers as I’ve said. Must have scrambled back in and come looking for Troy or he brought her back thinking he could fix it and found out he was wrong. He blew her face clean off. He must have dug the hole and put her in it. Covered it with lye. Got in there with her. Shot himself.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. Bodies were in pretty rough shape when we found ‘em.” The stars are bright tonight as you blink back tears in the dark. “I shouldn’t have let her go out there. I thought he would get her to take it seriously. I should have pushed. But. They were so close and I also know that I couldn’t ask him to choose my wants over hers. And in the end it looks like he wouldn’t have picked mine anyway.”

The power from the dam is being conserved for the harvest dance tonight, so the streetlamps are dark on your row. But the moon’s bright enough to catch Joel watching you, reassessing you.

“I’m very, very capable of deserving love, Joel. And I’m capable of giving it with my whole, stupid heart. I remember what the world used to be, and how it turned on a dime and how we all lost everything we were and had. And when I met Troy I thought that love could fix it. Nope. It doesn’t fix it. The past doesn’t go away. But it’s nice to have someone to walk through the better days with. To choose to live in the present and make it brighter.”

As if the world is an underscore to your story, one last, lonely cricket interrupts the silence, a holdout for the season, waiting a little too late to find itself a mate and a home.

“I’m a murderer, Songbird.”

It’s a simple statement.

“I know you are.”

“Just so you know. Just so you know what you’re getting into.”

Now it’s your turn to gather your thoughts. “We’re all a pile of our many selves. Who we were, who we choose to be going forward, how we see ourselves, how others see us. It’s all there, always will be. All of us a little broken. Fractured. But it doesn’t have to be just one thing forever. There’s no mark of Cain here. Just making choices every day to be the person you want to be. You find your people and you take care of them as best you can, and they do the same for you. You slip up, you start over tomorrow.”

And now it’s his turn to blink up at the night sky.

“You did what you had to do, Joel, we all did. We all had to revise the moral manual for a minute. Nice thing about Jackson these days is that there’s nothing you have to do. You can just do what you want, what makes you feel whole and alive. And if that’s something different every day, then that’s your choice. You say you’re not good at this, but you are. You danced with me. Walked with me. Listened. You’re just as good as you have to be and if you want to be better at it then you just...try again. You get unlimited tries.”

His expression is muddled in shadow, his face turned out of the light and focused on you.

Suddenly tired, you stand up and walk up the stairs to the door. “I had a nice time tonight, Foxy. The best. Even if it ended on a downer.”

“That’s my fault.”

“No. It’s nobody’s fault, it’s just what life is now sometimes. Will I see you tomorrow?”

He’s slow about it, but he climbs the last few steps to the porch. You were wrong about the solitary cricket; there’s still a few still pushing the limits, challenging the first frost, singing to the moonlight.

Reaching out, letting his fingertips trail your arm all the way down, he captures your hand to keep you still and moves in, slow and quiet.

When he finally kisses you, it’s a tentative declaration, a promise of what he can give right here, right now; his kiss lingers in apology, showing you in every way that he has trouble letting go, unpracticed in being tender, but he’s willing to try.

Finally.

Every second lingered is worth the wait, only because you can feel that it won’t be the last.

“Guess I shouldn’t put off until tomorrow what I can start on today then,” he says when he steps back.

“That's a real good start.”

There’s not much more to say as he makes his way down the steps off into the night and toward his own house. No need. No expectations. There’s always tomorrow.

And since Joel’s come to town, it seems like every tomorrow’s usually been better than the yesterday before.

_____

You’ve been sitting on Maria’s couch knitting a sweater in the chilly morning sun for at least a good hour when Ellie comes down from upstairs.

“Oh hey, you’re here,” she says, throwing herself down on the floor by your feet and beginning to paw through your basket.

“I am. Didn’t have any plans today, thought I’d come and be on hand. How’s Riley?”

“Down for one of many naps. He’s growing so fast already.” Finding a full spindle in your stash, she begins unwinding it and forming it into a neat ball with practiced hands.

“That’s what babies do. He’ll be walking and talking before you know it.”

“We should bring him out to see the sheep when he’s walking.”

“We’ve got a corral of milkers in town he can visit. Probably not a great idea taking kids out of town. You’ll see when he’s up and about. Little kids like get away from you and hear themselves scream. Hard to keep safe if you’re dumb and loud.”

“Oh. Right.” She’s silent a while, slowly building her yarn ball.

“Something you wanna ask me? It’s not like you to volunteer to help with this part.”

There’s a certain way Ellie chews her lip and scrunches it at the same time. “I was thinking of asking you…if I could stay behind next time you go out to the Roost.”

That makes you chuckle. “Riley’s a little more fascinating than the sheep right now, huh. What. You thought I’d be mad?”

“No, just…I do like being out there. But I also feel like I can help here. For now. And I know you’re skipping your weeks to be here and I thought if I stayed you could go and then there’s still enough of us around….”

“The sheep are in good hands, they can wait. I’m in no hurry and I don’t mind being here. But I appreciate it.”

The yarn’s coming to an end, the ball in her hands reaching a pleasing softball size. “Can I ask you a favor then?”

“Of course.”

“Tommy went out to the reconstruction site and left his lunch and Maria asked me to bring it to him so he doesn’t come home for it and wake her or the baby.”

“But you wanna stay here.”

“Yeah.”

“Good timing.” Smiling and finishing up your row, you tuck the needles and sweater into the basket. “It’s a nice, dry day for a walk and I’ve been meaning to go see that sector. Tell you what. Eye for an eye. I go out there, you ball up all those spindles while I’m gone. Don't undo my knitting."

What the autumn sun is lacking in warmth, Ellie makes up for it with that spark of unbridled joy. “Fuck yeah, deal!”

_____

Swinging a bundle bag full of Tommy’s lunch and other sundries, you walk out to the old north edge of town. The wall’s come down here, another one erected a handful of blocks beyond, re-civilization slowly sweeping and expanding out as the need arises. The houses are in varying stages of disrepair, repair, and some have come down to use for scrap. Your elementary teacher’s house is still here, getting a spiff-up treatment and you’re remembering Mrs. Erstine and her roses fondly when there’s a sharp whistle and call of your name.

Joel’s walking down the block toward you with an easy smile and you return it as he nears. It’s been a couple of weeks since the harvest dance and you haven’t seen each other much outside of family dinners and scattered evenings at Maria and Tommy’s’. Between the rush to get some of these homes fit for winter and you helping out with all the canning and preserving down at the mess hall, a twilight trio on the porch with Ellie here and there has been your scant means of together time.

“What’s brought you up this way? Everything okay?” He’s good enough to bend his neck a little so you can meet his patchy cheek in a kiss.

“Tommy forgot his lunch and Maria wants to spare him a trip.” You hold up the bag. “And I brought treats for you too.”

His finger hooks the bag, trying to peek in. “Really.”

“Nah ah, not until you take me to your leader.”

“My leader,” he scoffs, turning and leading you up the street. “Ain’t nothin’ he can do I don’t have to come up after him and fix.”

“Speaking of fixing, we could use new shingles at the Roost. It’s been wet and I’ve heard there’s a leak.”

“Yeah? When you going out next? I’ll go out with you.”

Turning onto a more wooded road, you both follow the sound of hammers. “Well, Goldie’s up there now and I usually take after her. I suppose I could go next week before the rains really start up.”

“Next week then.”

As you approach a beautiful A-frame home, Tommy’s over to one side at a couple of sawhorses, measuring out a beam. Joel calls out to his brother with the same whistle he gave you.

“It’ll be just you and me,” you say. “Ellie wants to stay home with Riley.”

Joel’s head whips around. “What?”

“Hey there, ma’am-o-jam, what brings you up here? Everything alright?” Just like his brother.

“Yeah, all’s well. You forgot your lunch and my legs needed a stretch.”

“Oh shit,” he grins. “I was just starting to get hungry. Thanks.”

“No problem.” You gesture to the house. “This is really beautiful. It’s like a bigger version of the Roost.”

“It’s nothin’ like the Roost. It’s on the ground.” Tommy smiles as you swat at him. “We’ve started with all the houses that need the least amount of help, tearing down the ones that need the most to fix ‘em up. This one had a lot of protection from the elements–the sun and the snow–from all these pines around it. All the windows still in place. Mostly just had to clear out a couple of overgrowths in the basement–probably the previous owners gone to seed. But it’s all good treated hardwood. Good bones. It’ll stand another century or two.”

A small, involuntary shiver passes through you at the casual mention of dead infected. “Did you burn them? The previous owners.”

Your reaction doesn't escape Joel’s notice. “Did it myself. There were a few in this section. It’s okay. They were long gone. Dry as a bone. It’s safe here.”

He’s earned a smile, even if it’s a sad one. “That’s good. They must have loved this house, to want to stay here, even when they didn’t know any better. Can’t blame ‘em. Anyway,” you go through your bag, lifting out a small parcel and handing the rest to Tommy, “here you go. But this is yours,” offering the parcel to Joel but then snatching it away as he reaches for it, “only if you promise to be honest and tell me if you like it or not.”

Joel’s eyes light up when he opens the package. “Holy shit; is that…pecan pie?”

And Tommy winks as he takes his lunch and walks back toward the house.

“Heard it was your favorite.” You can’t help but laugh at his big dumb grin. “Don’t be too excited! I obviously had to make every substitution. Walnuts for pecans, honey for sugar; it’s not exact, but it should be close enough. Been working on my bakes.”

Taking a bite, he shakes his head in what at first seems like pain but soon reveals itself to be the opposite. “Damn woman. And you only bring me one piece?”

“You’re a carpenter. That’s a triangle obviously cut out of a full circle. You know there’s more where that came from.” It’s a pleasure to watch him lose a battle against another big bite. “I take it you’re happy.”

His mouth full of sticky sweetness but the crow’s feet setting in, all he can do is chew and cock his head, looking you over as if to say, damn right I am.

_____

Joel’s quiet the whole ride to the Roost. It’s easy to guess what’s troubling him. A whole week alone should be exciting, but he’s worrying about expectations again and there hasn’t been much time to talk about it…or he just didn’t want to.

“Meadowlark to Goldfinch.”

“Present.”

“Bringing a Grey Fox in at the north gate.”

“Noted. You brought your own sheets I hope.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Joel’s frown and straightened shoulders as he suddenly loses the sympathetic gait with his horse. “Yup. Both sets. For two beds. Man’s here to work on that roof and I’m only payin’ him in food.”

“Ooof. Poor Joel. He deserves better.”

“Yeah, well I’m working on it. Boiled water last night and I didn’t even burn it.”

The banter seems to have relaxed him back into the saddle sag for the time being, and you keep it up until Goldie has you in her sights.

“I know you like sleeping under the stars, Foxy, but it’s been cold and wet. Bed’s yours. I’ll take the top bunk.”

“Fine,” he grunts.

“And you’re not allowed to go up on the roof unless I’m around to spot you.”

“I can handle it.”

“Oh, I’m sure, but my nerves can’t. And this is my domain. I’m the boss out here.”

This gets you one half serving of smile with a side of eyeroll. “Yes ma’am.”

Once you’re settled in, Joel descends the ladder and starts going through the woodpile, looking for adequate repair material, taking up the axe to split some logs for shingles while you go take a cursory round through the meadows.

The sheep are mostly on the near side by the copse of trees housing the Roost, keeping a tight flock, settled down and facing into the wind. A few bleat as you arrive but none of them skitter, allowing you to pat a couple as they chew cud and to check any for painted marks in case Goldie found one of them sick or lame. Other than one small ram that wants to playfully butt you in the thigh, all seems well. The rest of the flock is mostly down by the river and you take a little time to make some noise and shoo them toward the others before circling back to the Roost….

…which is where you find Joel Miller up on the ladder prying at rotted shingles.

“What the hell did I say, Cinnamon Roll?”

“Hold your britches,” he calls down. “I’m just assessing.”

“How am I supposed to get up there and you got the ladder?”

“Oh now we have a quandary,” he jokes. “What are you gonna do if I don’t let you up?”

“You think I haven’t slept out with the sheep before? I’d have no issue with it but that it’s gonna rain, so maybe you should let me up so I can help and make that repair go faster.”

Coming down and moving the ladder to the balcony drop, he scans the sky with doubts. “What makes you think it’s gonna rain?”

“Because I read sheep.”

“You read sheep.”

“Yeah. They spell it out like a marching band. RAIN. Big letters. Cursive. Could you just–”

The ladder comes sliding down with a thunk and you climb, taking his helping hand as you reach the top.

He smirks. “You’re cute when you’re angry.”

All you can do is shake your head and hide your grin. “Don’t you dare. I’m gonna get my gloves.”

As he starts to heft the ladder back up, you go inside and quickly grab a wool hat and a pair of deerhide gloves from your pack. Turning to go back out though, a glint catches your eye near the door.

There’s a new nail in the wall.

With a broken watch hanging from it.

Huh.

This must be the place where he feels like he can be free of it and of the past you gather it represents for him. A special spot for it by the door where he won’t forget it when he leaves, somewhere he can see it if he needs it, but not carry it so much.

It’s a nice piece but for the hole. Well cared for. 2:40. You realize with a little regret that you missed the anniversary, that Outbreak Day no longer registers. Which means you also didn’t–

He doesn’t like to celebrate his birthday, Tommy once said.

It had come and gone without much fuss. But also without any noticeable misery. Railroaded by a new nephew and hard work.

That’s good. He’s not forgetting, just letting it rest. Someday it will be a good day again.

“You gonna get out here and hold this thing or what? You’re the one said rain is coming.”

“Not me. It was the sheep. Hold your britches or get a better belt. I’m coming.”

_____

A gentle roll of thunder wakes you in the night and the Roost is dark as you listen for a moment to the rain pattering against the roof slanting up and over you, inches away. Tuning in, you train your ear for a hard patter, a splotch, any indication that the roof patch didn’t hold, but of course it has. It was mended by Joel Miller himself.

Well, at least it’s dry, but damn, it’s chilly. A glance toward the little iron stove shows you nothing but darkness, which means the fire’s out. As much as it hurts to leave the little nest of warmth you do have, it’s probably better to relight it and warm the place by morning, so down the bunk ladder you go, being as quiet as possible.

Somehow, it's always comforting waking up at night at the Roost. Your house in town is too quiet at night, too full of the possibility of unfamiliar ghosts--of those that lived there, of the society it held, of your own loneliness. At least out here you feel held by the trees and needed by the sheep. There are ghosts buried out there in the meadow, but they're long gone now, part of the land itself, land that was always wild and free and full of the kind of life that wasn't destroyed all at once in one day. Night at the Roost is a quiet comfort, a place of purpose and sisterhood and family. It's full of wooden and woolen things made by hands you know and is welcoming to everyone, including the moonlight and the stars.

It takes a little doing with the wind up and you have to manipulate the flue a bit, but after a few minutes there’s a lovely crackling and smell of pine. Padding over to the chair by the window to snatch the wool blanket there, you stop for a minute to look out at the storm, trying to catch a glimpse of the sheep in a flash of lightning, but there’s not much of that to be had, so you wrap the blanket around yourself and make your way back to the bunk ladder.

“Sheep okay out there?” Joel mumbles in the dimness from his bed, somewhere near your knee.

“They’re fine. Did I wake you up?”

“No. Been listening to the rain a while. You cold?”

“Yeah. Fire went out. You?”

His answer comes in the form of something like a sail in the darkness and it takes a second to realize that he’s holding his blankets open in an invitation. “Come on. You’re gonna let the heat out.”

Sliding into Joel’s warmth is an easy decision to make. And it’s not just the warmth of his sheets, but that he brings the covers around you, pulling you all the way into his chest against his soft old undershirt, tucking you in under his chin, wrapping you up in his whole, woodsmoke-scented self.

Every tension in you simply melts into bliss.

Resting his lips against your forehead, his breath fans gently at your hair. “I could get used to this.”

A long hum rides out on your exhale. “I think I already am.”

“You’re a good woman, you know that?”

“Spoken like a true Texan.”

A long kiss presses into your forehead. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. I’m gonna do my best to be good again, Songbird. Hope I can be what you want.”

“That’s easier than you imagine. You’ve been what I want since you showed up around here, so I’m already quite pleased. Hope I can be what you want.”

A new warmth takes you over as he starts to spread his hand along your back, simply running over your contours, testing out what it’s like to hold someone this way, slowly caressing, lightly squeezing, tucking you in tighter. “You seem to know what I want before I even do. I look forward to finding out what I want next.”

“Well, I have to admit. Your brother tipped me off about the pecan pie.”

He laughs a little as he tips your chin up to meet you in a kiss in the dark. It’s hesitant but hungry; a long time needed and a long time savored.

“Did your sheep say it was supposed to rain all day?”

His hair and beard ruffle softly under your fingertips. “I didn’t ask, but I think it probably will. Sure hope that new roof holds.”

“We could always just stay right here and keep an eye on it.”

“See? You know exactly what you want. We can do that. I’d say that’s a good day’s work.”

His hand splays big and warm on your back, pinning you close for another kiss. “I tend to agree.”

_____

PREVIOUS: SUMMER

NEXT: WINTER (coming soon)

MASTERLIST

SERIES MASTERLIST

[kairiscorner]

(this is my first time writing for earth-42 miles, so please correct me if i get him wrong, ty !)

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

((also i'll be distinguishing miles 42 from miles 1610 through his second name, gonzalo, PLEASE CORRECT ME IF IT'S TOO WEIRD/INCORRECT IN THE FIRST PLACE TY... + ART IN THE PIC IS NOT MINE, I JUST EDITED IT, CTTO.))

miles-42 and miles-1610 x reader (twin au <33)

you had known the morales boys your entire life, they were sweet and caring, though only one of them was vocal about it; the other made it hard for you to tell if he cared or just waited for you to shut up and leave him alone. either way, both loved you just as much as you loved them, maybe even a bit more than you believed.

the two were partners in crime, whatever one did, they were sure to have the other's back. be it escaping home for the night to hang out with you, graffitiing some public place behind their dad's back, sneaking into their uncle aaron's place to hang out--they always had each other to get themselves out of trouble.

the two shared everything, as well. in common sibling, and of course, twin, fashion, their shared clothes, a room, a family--and of course, lives together. they were like two peas in a pod, quite literally; they'd share each other's joys, pain, anger, sadness... it was like a twin sense they had, an instinct that everything the one had, the other had to have, too.

but some things just weren't supposed to be shared, and even for the two close brothers, they knew that sentiment very well. there were days when the twins would hide things from each other, some feelings of jealousy, anger, or even... kind of just insecurity about not having what the other has--it hurts them sometimes that they know they can't share everything they have with each other.

even you.

they knew you since they were kids, teased you a whole lot, but protected you when you needed them. they were your best friends of all, even if other friends left you or you left them, they were the ones who stuck by your side the most, who you knew best. they were the real ones, and they loved you a whole lot; you were practically part of their family, as per what rio and jeff told you.

but even if you three were friends your whole lives, the two felt... different about it. as if they thought 'friends' was an incorrect label for what they wanted to be with you. they were big dreamers, both of them were–but the biggest dream of all, for both of them, was to make you theirs. and they don't mean to share you, they mean you pick either of them, be it gonzalo or miles.

gonzalo is subtle about dropping hints on how much he likes you, he only gives you a small sliver, a small taste of how much he really feels about you. he keeps you company when you're lonely, and he doesn't chat up a storm as much as his twin; in fact, you barely notice he's there, but somehow, you feel comfortable and safe around, especially when you finally notice him there.

you feel bad that he sometimes goes unnoticed to you when he hangs around you, but he doesn't mind–he can want you attention, it's a big honor for him to have it all to himself, but he wants to earn your attention, not force it out of you.

unlike miles, gonzalo is more of a listener, like a really intent listener. miles is great to talk to, it's a two-way street, you talk and listen, he talks and listens; but gonzalo always seems to listen, just mainly listening to you is the best he can do.

he didn't really feel like he was the best person to go to for advice, he'd rather listen to your problems and help you solve it on your own. he's unsure of how to solve a lot of problems on his own, so helping other people solve theirs? yeah, he worries a whole lot about what he says, even if he doesn't show it.

he cares about you so much, and he knows how capable you are, he tends to worry less in general because he trusts you so much. but if you really needed him, oh goodness, boy does not hold back on helping you, defending you, even.

he appears scary to a lot of people, and he uses that to his advantage. one time, you needed him to pretend to be your boyfriend for a couple of days, just to shake off some creeps who can't take the hint that you weren't interested. it got to the point where, when miles wasn't around, gonzalo confronted those guys and, nonchalantly, threw their lunch in their faces.

he did not flinch at all, and, without hesitation, he took your hand and ran away with you out of the cafeteria. when you asked him where he was taking you, he just said he'd take you far away from them, and even if they'd follow you, he'd beat their asses for real. like hell he'd let anything happen to you, let anyone else think they can have you.

"i held back because i'm a nice guy, like you say. and because i'm nice, i won't beat the crap out of them, yet. but they gotta understand... they can never be with you the way we're together."

you thought you knew what gonzalo meant to say, you thought he meant it in the nicest, friendliest way possible--and he sort of did, but he meant that... no one else can have what he wants with you; this romance with you that he's pictured in his head over and over again, but is too afraid to tell you and own up to his feelings.

he's scared he'll scare you away and lose you.

unlike miles, who always seems to share a laugh with you. miles is sometimes mistaken as your boyfriend, what with your friends and your parents always seeing you two together. you both loved art and music, hung out together several times, even without gonzalo, to share the pieces you two made, listen to music together, maybe graffiti a few walls here and there without his dad knowing; it was bliss, being with miles.

miles made you feel like the world was your oyster, he never restricted you to anything because he knew what it was like to be restricted from a lot of things.

unlike gonzalo, miles talks to you while he listens. he offers you advice, tries to solve your problems for you. and though you really appreciate his help, you somehow feel like he makes it his duty to take up your burdens and make them his own. miles has always been that way, selfless and people-loving, but it hurt you a lot to know that miles can't even help himself first a lot of the time.

he keeps telling you he's okay, he's not at all in any trouble, and even if he looks okay, you knew for a fact those were lies. miles wasn't the best liar, he was kind of compulsively lying, but the only lies he ever told you and everyone else he knew and cared about were that he was okay.

you really wanted to help him, but miles is stubborn; he insists he doesn't need help, he's "okay! what about you?" that's all he ever retorts with. as much as you loved miles, there were just times when you couldn't help him, not because you weren't just sure where to start, but he really closed himself off a lot of the time.

but, he's trying. he expresses himself through his art, and slowly, all his feelings unravel when you ask him about it. he could go on for hours on end about how much he put his feelings, his thoughts, his ideals into his work; how much love he imbued in every single bit of it.

one time, he made you a portrait; he was doing it subconsciously, maybe he did out of longing for you because he made it when you and your family were on vacation. he didn't realize it was you until gonzalo pointed it out, and slowly, he came to draw you, illustrate you, more and more, with and without him realizing that, in all his works... you're always the constant.

gonzalo encouraged him to hand it to you when you got back, but he was scared; what if you found it weird? what if you found it creepy? what if it was actually disproportionate to how you really looked? would you even recognize it was you?

but despite his overwhelming thoughts, he decided that he'd find out the answers when you gave it to him. and thus, he presented it to you the day you came home.

he hesitated, of course, he was nervous--fumbling over his words and laughing awkwardly to himself as you looked at the portrait.

"i know, i know, it's... kinda weird, no? like, out of the blue, you just came to mind. and i guess my hands just had minds of their own, it seems. ha, ah, um, well... hah, do you like it? is it... any good, or...?"

when you told him, without a second thought, that you loved it; he was so relieved. his confidence came back and he showed you more of what he made. though he was a little embarrassed because he thought some parts were off, some parts didn't capture the right essence of you--all that mattered to him was that you were happy, you liked what he made you.

but he could never tell you why you came to mind those days, why you were all he could think of that he drew you over and over and over again. when he listened to his favorite songs, only you came up to mind.

he's scared that if he tells you, he loses you.

the twins talked about how they felt about you to each other, and they came to a joint conclusion: they both loved you. well, that was okay, sort of... not that they'd stop being brothers if you liked either one of them.

"you know i'm not gonna lose to you though, right? i like them a whole lot, and... i care about them."

"hah, what makes you think i don't feel that way about them, too? you watch your back, brother, they'll be mine in no time."

guess it's double the trouble for you, with both morales boys pursuing you and your love.

a/n: yes i was inspired by the scene in the movie, you got me <33

[lakesbian]

ok Worm Bigotry Breakdown in more detail for @silverflyingpikachu

tl;dr: author is Cishet White Guy From Canada In 2011. he ostensibly thinks he is progressive. this does not change his proclivity for tossing his Cishet White Guy From Canada Biases into the books and then saying even more bigoted things in defense of those writing decisions on forums. wildbow is just some cunt on the forums with bad opinions on wildbow's writing. the book is 1.7 million words long but i believe in my ability 2 categorize this shit with decent accuracy. everyone who has ever said worm's CWs can't be categorized, including wildbow himself, is a lying ass bitch. this will include some vague spoilers, because i can't really go in-depth without a few examples, but i'll stay away from anything too plot-critical.

racism:

- worm is fundamentally a book abt systems of power and the ways in which they suck. some of the critiques worm issues--e.g, its depiction of how school systems enable bullying, inspired by wildbow's own experiences w/ the school systems as a deaf kid--are viscerally accurate and incredibly compelling. but wildbow fundamentally doesn't understand how certain systems of oppression work--e.g policing--and subsequently, his attempts at depicting them occasionally fall flat onto their face and land in racist territory. this gets particularly nasty when combined w/ the White Guy Author propensity for racist stereotypes--for example, his chosen face of police brutality is a black girl portrayed as predatory & animalistic.

- who is also one of the only black people in the book overall, alongside--for example--an addict portrayed as having less interiority & being less deserving of empathy than A Literal Fucking Nazi. also, the main characters have to team up with the nazis "for the greater good" (defeating the mean asian villains) at one point. it is a mercy to the readers when this part of the story ends. - there are two black characters in the main cast. for the first, wildbow just Straight Up Forgot to include the most compelling aspect of their background + characterization in the text (it was provided via WoG instead, which i provide to all wormreaders like a fuckin' DLC patch when they get to where it's relevant) & entirely forgets they exist towards where the end of their character arc should have been. the second is introduced w/ the most misogynoiristic description on the planet but blessedly has a largely compelling and well-written arc as the book goes on. - depiction of china is just like. fox news level sinophobic "it's all a brainwashed indistinguishable evil cult" shit. not relevant for very long relatively speaking but insufferable to read. asian characters are also like. we got Brutal Yet Honorable Asian Man. we got Fiery Asian Girl With Blue Eyes. it fucking blows it's not good

- oh yeah forgot this one someone mentioned in the tags. #it's an insignificant paragraph and nobody talks about it but the part where it goes #“yeah literally EVERY cape in South America is with a cartel and the heroes are barely distinguishable from the villains” #fuck you #not that the others aren't bad the fatphobia gets really gross but nobody mentions this and that one got me so yeah typical Insufferable Awful Imperial Core Author Understanding Of What Other Countries Are Like - i could make this section one million bulletpoints long but the gist is summarized i think--wildbow's varied racist biases leak fucking everywhere, into character design, into narrative assumptions about who's deserving of interiority/empathy or not, into attempts at Saying Anything About Society, into which characters he prioritizes, into who he offers validity via the narrative, etc etc etc.

homophobia: - theres a girl named amy dallon in it and she is the worst lesbophobic stereotype ever known to man. no other Problematic Lesbian™ you can think of has anything on this girl. the worst part is that she genuinely has a decently compelling character concept and arc, which her being awful is integral to, so you might accidentally find her interesting anyway and then she'll move into your brain - wildbow kept accidentally writing characters that scan as massive dykes and then got really mad about f/f ships for the book being popular in the fandom. he responded by making a deranged forum post involving the phrase "pandering is pandering" insisting everyone (but the bisexual "hedonist") is straight and writing a scene into the book where one of the characters literally turns to the camera and tells the readers "not to get the wrong idea" about her hugging her friend. - over the course of 1.7 million words he finds excuses to loudly inform you that all of the relevant female characters are straight and it's sooo shoehorned in you can always tell when he's doing it - basically worm is like if naruto was about homoerotic teenage girls who do violent terrible things, in terms of levels of unintentional homoeroticism, and the author responds to ppl going "lmao gay" about the unintentional homoeroticism with poorly restrained seething rage

fatphobia: - generic brand of fatphobia you'll see in p much all mainstream media where only side/bg characters are fat and it's obliquely used as a descriptor to indicate that someone has negative personality traits or should be viewed as sort of gross

anti-addict shit: - wildbow generally likes writing about how social circumstances--i.e neglect from society, oppression, failure on behalf of systems--causes crime. he generally likes demonstrating the ways in which the villainous main characters are traumatized teenagers failed by society fumbling to keep existing & holding each other up through The Horrors. unfortunately all of this intelligent writing flies out the nearest window when addicts are involved. there is a gang comprised entirely of addicts, all of whom are portrayed as disgusting, violent, dangerous, and of course often racially stereotyped. it is a mercy to the readers when they're no longer relevant to the story. - on a more subtle level, characters are every so often just like. a little more anti-drug than they would realistically be and you can tell it's wildbow's opinions leaking into their characterization. this is largely what the anti-addict writing is kept to after The Addict Villains leave the story iirc.

if youre wondering wellwhy does anyone read this book then. to that i would say that unfortunately despite it all it'sa fucking excellent book. so we all carry on reading the parts that suck and thinking about how they suck and then reading the parts that fuck and going "ouuugh my god" and rolling down 20 flights of stairs about how hard they fuck.

[dawn-moths]

“Show Me You Love Me With the Shape of Your Bite”

Noe Archiviste x Female Reader

word count: 4300+

(celebrating two years of this blog, i’m back with a lil one shot for noe because the first fic i ever posted was for him. // A human’s strength is nothing compared to a vampire’s— a fact that’s always concerned Noe when it comes to being with you in such an intimate way. But, unlike how most of your own kind would warn you of, you’ve never had a reason to doubt or fear his intentions with you. Besides, as if letting him bite you on a normal basis wasn’t proof enough, even in the worst case scenario, you’ve already made it clear to Noe that you don’t necessarily mind a little pain if he’s the one causing it.)

content warning/disclaimer: 18+ content! minors dni! smut, vampires, biting/marking, blood/readers blood is drunk, reader is a bit of a masochist while Noe is apprehensive about hurting her too much, rough sex at times, size difference, dickriding, aftercare.

*ao3 mirror*

***

Ribbons of broken, silver moonlight streamed in through the gaps of the curtains, the shadows of dusk dancing across the floors, starbursts of amber and coral shimmering on the polished hardwood from the crackling fire burning low and sultry in its stoney hearth.

In the night, Paris came alive, the city lights sparkling like a sea of stars across the horizon, the constant murmur and buzz of the after-dark crowds humming through the air in a stream of noise and energy, muffled and distant from where you now lay, yet you could still imagine the intensity of it all after growing so used to being a part of the pack yourself.

Ever since meeting Noe, you’d traded rising in the early morning and twilight wind-downs for long, late nights and views of the dawn breaking on the horizon, the first muted shades of lilac and gold signaling your time to rest rather than the plum and navy of night blanketing itself across the sky like most others of your kind followed the consistent rhythm of.

You should’ve guessed after the first few times he’d suggested you meet by moonlight rather than daylight that he was afflicted with the forbidden curse— that he was a vampire— but even back then you wouldn’t have cared.

Because Noe Archiviste was as captivating and handsome as he was charming and sweet, he was gentle and kind and compassionate and everything you’d grown up being told those of his kind were not. Because, to everyone else, vampires were monsters. They were cold and cruel, ruthless and ravenous, and among the worst of them were the wolves in sheep’s clothing, using pretty words and entrancing appearances to lure in their prey before sinking their teeth in deep.

Your Noe was the sun after a summer’s rain, warm and inviting. He was a home to return to after a long day, safe and familiar. He was the first face you looked for in a crowd, his name ready to fall from your lips as those two, lilting phantom syllables rested on your tongue.

Some days, you still found yourself reluctant to call what you two shared love, only for the fact that you’d both been keeping it a secret from everyone outside yourselves. But with all the feelings you held for him on a consistent basis in mind, how could what you felt for him be anything else?

You two were far more bonded than any human couple was. Noe knew the taste of your blood after all, had committed the flavor to memory, could distinguish it by a single drop alone. And you knew the imprint of his teeth just as well, craved the way his sharp incisors found a home in your supple flesh night after night, addicted to the ivory’s sharp and satisfying sting.

“Harder—” you breathed, gently writhing under Noe’s hold on you, though with no real means of escaping him. “Harder, Noe, please—!” You gasped as his bite sunk in a fraction deeper, drawing more rivulets of ruby red from the tender spot on your shoulder, sending a quick shudder down your spine, the sensation creeping vertebrae by vertebrae until it welled into the sticky, fluttering warmth of arousal pooling in your lower belly.

As his tongue lapped at the welling beads of red, slow and gentle to savor the taste of you, you let out a broken moan, body arching to follow the heat of his mouth. Noe was always so afraid to go too far, to lose control and end up hurting you, no matter how many times you assured him you wouldn’t ask for the pain if you didn’t want it. But he also couldn’t help but give in to your requests, even if sometimes it made his stomach twist with guilt.

The moment you started making those succulent, saccharine mewling sounds of pleasure though, it was as if all of his ice-dipped remorse melted away. He could drink down your whines and moans just as easily as he could your blood, meeting your mouth for a languid, tongue-entwined kiss, letting you taste your own blood as you parted your lips to let him in.

You’d asked him before what blood tasted like to vampires, said all you could make out from the coppery flavor was the wince-inducing bitterness that had you resisting the urge to screw up your features and spit it from your mouth. So it was hard to believe him when he described it as sweet— sometimes even sickly so— with a hint of pleasant salt and the lingering undertones of something that could only be compared to addiction.

But your part of this exchange didn’t require you to enjoy the taste. For you, it was the feeling— the completely embodied sensation— of what having your blood drunk by him felt like that urged you to keep seeking out his teeth.

It was heavenly. Pure ecstasy. It made you forget why humans had spent so many centuries fearing vampires, if only for the fact that, if it weren’t for you and Noe’s special bond, he probably could’ve drained you dry and left you for dead like the legends of old warned about.

There were still plenty of vampires lurking the streets and hiding in the shadows whose hunger had gone insatiable, morphing them into greedy, voracious monsters who couldn’t see any innocent life past all that gushing red. But your Noe was different. He’d held onto his morality longer than most of his kind would ever have the will to consider, let alone succeed at, and you guessed you could consider yourself pretty lucky that you’d run into him on that first fateful night rather than someone else more sinister and selfish.

“You ok…?” Noe asked in between shallow, panting breaths, his hands splayed on either side of your head as he gazed down at you, lips stained red and shining with your shared saliva, the tip of his tongue darting out to catch the fading crimson that remained. The next thing you felt was his palm, warm, now that his energy had been replenished from your blood, cradling your cheek. You lay underneath him, back sinking into the mattress and eyes closed as his shadow blanketed over your bare form, allowing yourself to drift off into the serenity that often followed Noe’s feedings.

You felt safe. Held. Comforted by his presence and by the fact that, during this act, you were two becoming one in a way few would ever know or understand.

Letting him drink from you often came after sex. It allowed a euphoric extension on the galaxy of pleasure that Noe’s body could coax from yours. It also ensured that he didn’t have too much strength to unleash upon your fragile human form, his pace slow and sensual as he buried himself deeper and deeper into you. But sometimes, like tonight, when he indulged in a feeding beforehand, well…

You knew you were going to be in for one hell of a ride.

“Maybe I took too much this time…” Noe muttered to himself in a low, worried tone as you felt the bed shift around you, your eyes fluttering open to watch as he changed position, carefully lifting your limp figure up to drape and rest against his chest before leaning back against the barrier of pillows that lined the headboard. He was carding his long fingers through your lightly tousled hair, mumbling sporadic thoughts under his breath under the false pretense that you’d drifted off to sleep. You thought you heard him say something about stopping there for the night, not wanting to push you past your limits.

That was enough to jolt you back to consciousness, just enough to stir in his grasp and breathe out a weak and airy, “Noe…” on account of still recovering from your recent blood loss. You lifted your head slightly to meet his eyes, which had now been leeched of their glowing, crimson color and turned back to calming lavender on account of his appetite being satisfied. You gave him a feeble, tired smile and said, “It’s ok… I’m ok. I can keep going…”

The vampire considered you for a moment. He knew you had a habit of pushing yourself, but before he could think on it too long, you were taking his face in your hands and luring him back to you with one of those adorable, delicate little giggles. “Noe, come on…” you reassured him with a smile, devotion sparkling in your eyes, “You know I trust you more than anyone else. Plus, even if you do hurt me a little bit…” You paused, feeling your cheeks heat before admitting what you were about to next, despite having done it several times to him already. “Even if you do hurt me, I don’t mind. I… like the pain, remember?”

Beckoning him closer to you now, letting him lay his head against your chest and cradling your arms around him like he was the delicate one, like he was the one worth worrying about and protecting, you carded your little fingers through his snowy locks of hair and softly spoke to him, telling him again that you trusted him, how you loved him, and as the words left your mouth you knew them to be true, no hesitation in the confession you’d been so afraid to acknowledge prior.

Noe could’ve sunk so far into the comfort you gave him he would’ve drowned in it, finding he was never as soft and sentimental with anyone else as when he was with you. He never allowed himself to let his guard down to such a level, for a moment forgetting that, outside of this room, you two were widely considered to be enemies— hunter and prey, a monster and a girl.

He sometimes used to wonder if he’d ever find someone he could love who would also love him in return, before meeting you. And what was a luckier, more divine thing than to have your own angel to hold? To have someone who thought and cared about you as much as you thought and cared about them?

“Alright…” Noe mumbled, his cheek pressed to your chest, listening to your beating heart, counting out each gentle drum of the steady rhythm. As he lifted his head to meet your tired, half-lidded gaze, he said, “But I need you to promise me one thing…” Rising further to sit up, the two of you across from one another, bodies bare and on display for each other to see, to have, to hold, Noe’s words dripped with earnesty as he said, “If things start to go too far, I need you to tell me.”

“Noe, I—”

But he cut you off, cupping your cheek in his palm. “I know we’ve talked about this before, but I also know you haven’t always been completely honest with me about it.” You resisted the urge to swallow down the lump of guilt that had curled up in your throat, unable to deny his concerned accusation. Softly stroking his thumb along your jaw, so feathery light you could barely feel it, he set his lilac gaze on your neck where his bite had already begun to bruise and scab over, now a deep shade of wine. He said, “It’s been a while since I— since we’ve done this after a feeding…”

He didn’t need to explain any further. You knew exactly what he was so worried about now— the fact that, last time he drank beforehand and not after, it had resulted in you with tears streaming down your face and several more bites and bruises to paint your skin while he’d been blinded by the carnality of it all. You’d barely been able to walk the next day, feeling like something inside of you had been broken beyond repair, and even though you’d tried to assure him you would be ok, deep down there had been some fear sparked in you.

The pain he’d caused you that night had surpassed the fine line of the sugar-coated, thorny pleasure that you craved and ended up as injury instead.

Noe had said he’d never allow himself to partake in your blood before sex again, though, after months of trying to convince him not every time had to be like that first one and that, while you couldn’t necessarily erase the memory, you could help fix it by replacing it with something better, you’d gotten him to come around.

“I promise,” you told him, reaching forward to take his hand. He laced his fingers with yours, careful even in that act, as if each new touch he bestowed upon you from now until morning held the risk of breaking his own vow. “If it gets to be too much, I’ll tell you.”

You felt relief when his lips twitched into a soft, dreamy grin, the expression there and then gone in an instant, becoming entranced with the way your little hand fit together with his, palms pressed together and creating more shared warmth, Noe able to feel your pulse through your skin and noting the way it was picking up speed a little as he placed his other hand on your knee and gave a gentle squeeze.

It was you who leaned in to kiss him then, catching him off guard for a moment until he followed your cue and allowed himself to melt back into you, the hand on your knee sliding up to rest on your bare thigh, kneading the plush flesh there, slow and savoring, as you combed your fingers through his hair and sighed into his mouth, your core already coiling again in tiny, tight little pulses as his fingers grew closer to brushing up against where you were already slick and waiting.

A tender, broken moan spilled from your mouth as his first finger slipped inside, testing your tightness and comfort before adding in a second and curling at his knuckles, causing you to arch your back and slide further down to lay flat for him, spreading your legs wider as he slowly scissored his digits inside of you, biting back his own moan when he felt your hole clenching around what was inside harder the more he stretched you.

He caught his bottom lip on one of his fangs, vehemently reminding himself to stay in control, don’t go too far, don’t hurt her as his own arousal pulsed thick and eager through his veins, that familiar sharp pang of adrenaline already beginning to surge.

He was starting to remember now— how hard it had been to stop once he’d started— and the thought made his stomach churn for a whole other reason. But you were right. This time didn’t have to be like the last. It wouldn’t be. He’d make sure of it.

Once he’d prepped you enough to take him, Noe began to line himself up with your entrance, feeling his own cock twitch in his hand as he caught sight of the glistening beads that drooled from your cunt, asking you if you were ok before nudging in the tip, pausing when you momentarily winced, only continuing when you nodded at him to signal it was alright for him to keep going.

And, god, you loved how you could feel every single vein and ridge of him as he carved out a home inside of you, the velvety flesh of his cock massaging every part of your insides like it had been designed to do so, both your bodies devoted and destined to learn each other in this way long before you’d even met. The sweet sting of him splitting you in two made your tummy tighten and flutter, your pussy squeezing around the length of him just enough to give a teasing taste of what he already expected was to come.

His breathing was soon beginning to pick up speed, Noe hoping to hide just how much you were affecting him already as he forced out even, shuddering huffs, hunching over you while he tried not to let himself go completely, no matter how badly he wanted to right now.

It made him remember something else he’d almost forgotten about that last time— just how much better you felt when he was inside you after he’d been replenished by your blood, all his senses alive, every nerve alight with the heightened vitality that he gained from a recent feeding. It’s what made this all so dangerous in the first place.

“It’s ok…” you assured him, your own chest moving with the shallow, panting breaths of anticipation as you remedied your prior words with, “I’m ok. I trust you…”

Noe wanted to believe he could trust himself too. And as he felt the animalistic urgency within him simmer a little, he figured it was alright to start moving.

As much as it killed him to go so slow, he forced himself to hold out, gradually rolling his hips to meet yours, your voices moaning in tandem, creating a lilting melody of pleasure with each inch he drove deeper into you and every constricting squeeze of your cunt around his cock.

“Harder—” you were telling him again, the request cracking with a breathy whine as you felt him brush against your cervix, sharp jolts sparking through your abdomen followed by the slow, syrupy drip of pleasure that ran thick through your blood. You felt Noe hesitate for a moment, but when you twisted your fingers through his silky white hair and gave a tug, he snapped his hips forward hard enough to shove you a few inches up the bed. A small yelp emitted from you, clipped with a satisfied mewl, and you loosened your fist in his hair, tenderly stroking the back of his neck, playing with the wispy tufts at the base of his skull as you whispered out, “That’s it… Just like that…”

Noe had to pin your wrists down then, find some way to keep you anchored as he prepared to pound into you harder, though not yet with the rigorous speed you both knew he was capable of. And when you asked him to bite you again, well…

That time, Noe just couldn’t tell you no.

Sinking his teeth into your unmarked shoulder and feeling the skin break, more of your warm, sticky blood flooding into his mouth, Noe drank down gulp after gulp in rapid succession. This made him forget to mind his strength for a moment, and as you fell more slack under his hold, lulled by the euphoria of having your blood drunk by him for the second time that night, he nearly lost you.

He came back to his senses just in time, his saliva filled mouth pulling away from the new bite with a glittering strand of diluted reddish-pink bowing and snapping back onto the crook between your neck and shoulder.

He was partially horrified with himself, and for a moment wondered if he’d finally gone too far, past the point of no return, but was able to exhale a sigh of relief when you fluttered open your tired, bleary eyes and your shallow breathing registered to his sensitive hearing.

“I don’t think I can do this…” the vampire admitted under his breath, sounding disappointed in himself as he pulled out of you and used the pad of his thumb to swipe up a drop of red that was slowly dripping down towards your collar bones, shamelessly licking it away before casting you a quick, guilty glance. “I’m going to hurt you again. I know I am. I—”

Trying to prop yourself up onto your elbows in a way that was less than graceful, to say the least, you blinked the blood loss from your vision until Noe came back into focus. After a few minutes the swaying sensation of lightheadedness abated and you were able to roll yourself over, laying on your stomach as you stared at him sitting on the edge of the bed and looking stressed and conflicted.

You might’ve been able to call it a night, if not for the fact that you were still burning up inside with the need to release all this pent up arousal, so you decided to try approaching things from a different angle.

“Hey…” You lightly ran your fingertips along his spine, watching his back muscles flex as he turned partially to glance over his shoulder at you. “Lay down.”

Noe was already beginning to apologize, though for what exactly, you weren’t sure— as far as you were concerned, he’d done nothing wrong other than stop before letting you come— but you pressed a finger to his lips before he could finish his spoken atonement. 

You had him right where you wanted him— right where you needed him now. “Stop talking,” you said, climbing atop him once he was laying flat on his back, straddling him as you took his face in both your palms, his hands quickly reaching for your hips to help steady you when you began to sway slightly, still not fully recovered from the blood loss.

You were staring at him, desperately searching all that alluring lavender for any sign that he understood, and he was staring back at you as if he were being touched by god, completely enraptured by the gentle light in your eyes alone. “Let me take care of you,” you murmured, the moment of revelation drifting away. “You always do such a good job at taking care of me…” Taking his still hard cock in your hand, a small smirk curving on your lips when you felt him slightly tense beneath you, his stomach flinching, you lined it up with your entrance once more. “It’s my turn now.”

Noe let out a stuttering breath of ecstasy as you sunk down on him, both of you needing less time to catch your breath now but no less urgent in your need for each other. And as you began to grind your hips down on him, your clit rubbing hard against his pelvic bone every time you rolled forward and making your eyes tip to the back of your head, Noe kept a firm grip on your hips, helping to pull you down further onto his cock every time you lifted off again.

The glowing illumination of the midnight moon drenched your silhouette as you rode him, Noe admiring the way the light shone on your dewy skin, pretty tits bouncing as you began to pick up speed, your head thrown back, neck exposed and mouth hanging open with silent ecstasy as you approached closer and closer to the edge.

Noe was close too, beginning to buck his hips up into you to match your rhythm towards the end, still so strong even when he wasn’t trying that hard, making your toes curl as you twisted the bed sheets tight in your fists, hunching over him as your trembling legs felt like they were about to give out, thighs burning from the exertion and sweat gathering in the crooks of your folded knees, a new, high-pitched moan tumbling from your throat with each thrust.

And, god, when you both came at the same time, you swore you saw spots of heaven blinking in your vision, falling forward to drape yourself over him completely, squeezing every last drop from him as his cock spurt thick ropes of cum inside of you, enough to ooze out of your abused little hole and drip in thick, creamy dollops back onto him where you two remained connected until Noe mustered up enough strength to take your limp form in his arms and carefully sit up just enough to pull out of you, keeping you cradled against his warm chest until you actually did doze off.

Gently setting you aside, pulling a sheet across your naked body to shield you from the chill while he went to fetch a damp, warm washcloth to clean you up with, Noe was haunted by the fact that, for as many times as you two had been together before, it had never been quite as good as that.

Haunted, only for the fact that it had still been a dangerous risk to take. Yet still, a risk he had a feeling he’d be unable to talk you out of taking again.

He noted the various bruises speckled about your body as he cleaned you, dark blotches in the shape of his fingertips where they’d dug into your hips, more scattered across your thighs, your wrists, around the bites on both sides of your shoulders and along your neck where he’d branded you with hickies he hadn’t even remembered deciding to mark you with.

After leaving to fix himself up and returning again, Noe checked your pulse, two fingers pressed softly to the side of your neck, just to make sure his worst fear hadn’t come to pass. He flinched minutely when your little hand reached up to cup his, a sated smile spread across your lips, eyes still closed as you muttered out, “See… told you I’d be ok…”

Noe’s grin was a little more incredulous than anything, but as he gently stroked the side of your head, smoothing back some strands of tousled hair from your sweet face he adored gazing upon so much, he was just glad that you were alright this time around.

Curling up beside you, pressing a chaste peck to your forehead, Noe told you he loved you through a tired, dreamy sigh. Only then did you open your eyes, pupils dilated to swallow the color of your irises in the dark, and whispered back to him, like a promise, like a prayer, “I love you too…” After that, all you could remember was the darkness of encroaching unconsciousness and the familiar, comforting heat of his body entangled with yours, asleep and safe in each other’s arms at the end of another unforgettable night.

***

(Hello and thank you so much for reading! I really can’t believe it’s already been two years since I made this blog and started writing/posting fanfiction. Time really flies huh?

Anway, I’d like to take this time to give a big thank you to everyone who follows me, reads my work, and takes the time to leave likes or nice comments. It really makes my day :)

I look forward to being able to share the fics I have in the works going forward with you all. Hope you have a wonderful day and remember to be kind to yourself <3)

[spanishskulduggery]

May I ask on the usage of the terms te and me?

I'd like to know the rules so I know when to use them. I think they're used to indicate who owns the action, like "me gusta" or "te encanto". But then I see them used for other situations, like "me llamo" or "te amo".

It also makes me wonder why "tú" and "yo" can't be used in the same context, such as "tu amo mi". Too literal maybe?

I'm not sure how far you are in Spanish so I'm going to quickly go over some things and I'm sorry if it's too much info all at once or if it sounds like I'm talking down to you, I just want to be very clear on things and grammatical terms so you can look things up if you need to

First, your question is really about "pronouns" vs. "objects" vs. "prepositional objects"

In other words if you were asking about English you would be asking what the difference between "I" and "me", or "he" and "him", or "we" and "us" is

I think the easiest way to explain it is that when you mix them up it sounds like caveman speech kind of? This might be long - let me know if there's anything you need more info on

-

Pronouns:

yo -> I tú -> you (informal) él -> he ella -> she ellos / ellas -> they ustedes -> you all vosotros/vosotras -> you all [informal; Spain] nosotros/nosotras -> we

Pronouns act as subjects, taking the place of people (or things). Because they're subjects they're the things that do the things.

-

Objects are a bit different - they mark who/what is receiving the action. In Spanish's case there are direct objects [things acted upon] and indirect objects [to whom or for whom something is done]

The objects are technically different, but aside from 3rd person they look exactly the same. There is a difference in what verbs take direct objects or indirect objects though; as an example, the verbs like gustar use indirect objects

Direct objects:

yo -> me tú -> te él -> lo ella -> la ellos -> los ellas -> las vosotros/vosotras -> os nosotros/nosotras -> nos

*Note: ustedes could be los or las depending on the gender of the "you all"

Indirect objects:

yo -> me tú -> te él / ella / usted -> le ellos / ellas / ustedes -> les vosotros/vosotras -> os nosotros/nosotras -> nos

As an example between the differences, decir la verdad "to tell the truth" could go to la digo "I say it" where the la takes the place of the noun

Then if you're "telling someone (something)" it's le digo "I tell them"

...

In other words, saying using the objects instead of the subjects is like "you love I" or "us love she", it comes out wrong. It's not so off that someone wouldn't be able to piece together what you mean but it comes out a bit... "caveman-y" if you know what I mean

Note: This is also ignoring reflexives which aren't necessarily "objects" in the traditional sense; they mark when the subject and object are the same - so me llamo is literally "I call myself", and te llamas "you call yourself" though it comes out as "my name is" and "your name is"

Put simply, the reflexive marker will match the conjugation if it's reflexive - a yo is conjugated like yo but then you have the reflexive pronoun... so it's me llamo

Those other objects are me, te, se [all of 3rd person], nos, and os. Again, it's only 3rd person you need to worry about

But with reflexives something like se baña "he/she bathes" vs. se bañan "they bathe" is distinguished by the verb conjugation matching

-

Prepositional objects are a little bit different; they're specific objects that come up when you use a preposition - primarily, a, de, en, entre, hacia, para, por and a few others*

And for the most part there's only two to know

yo -> mí tú -> ti

There is also sí which is supposed to take the place of "it", like en sí is often "in and of itself"... it takes the place of se which is primarily a 3rd person thing

You will see something like a/con sí mismo/a "to/with oneself" here and there

But in general it's something like por mí "for me / on my behalf", por ti "for you / on your behalf", then it goes to like por él/ella/nosotros/vosotros so it's not really another set of words, just two

The one preposition to watch is con because that is a bit irregular:

conmigo is "with me"

contigo is "with you"

[they come from Latin cum mecum and cum tecum so it's an irregularity that passed over to Spanish]

You also occasionally see consigo "with itself" but not as commonly

These in general are easy enough to spot. Really what might trip you up is when a verb uses a special preposition which do happen but they're the minority of verbs:

Pienso en ti. = I think of you. Me acuerdo de ti. = I remember you. Puedes contar conmigo. = You can count on me. / You can trust me. Votas por mí. = You're voting for me.

Those prepositional verbs you learn as you go for the most part.

Your first exposure to these is primarily with gustar where it's more emphatic, as the a

Me gusta = I like it. A mí me gusta. = I like it. [more like "I do indeed like it" or "I am the one who likes it" or possibly "well I like it"] Te gusta = You like it A ti te gusta = You are the one who likes it

And again past that you're using regular pronouns. Only thing to keep in mind there is when you have a + masculine nouns

Like al señor le gusta "the man likes it" vs. a la señora le gusta "the woman likes it"

[yukimomodivorce]

Unecessarily long explanation/analysis of what Re:vale's name might mean

I don't know how to start this ok so basically this post and these tags from @nitunio

inspired me to try to explain my own interpretation and I maybe accidentally spent several days looking into the etymology in the process and now I have more to say about it than I did initially. So I wanna start by outlining every potentially relevant definition/use of re and vale that I found and then I'm gonna talk about how some of them relate to Re:vale. This post has sections and a reference list baby let's go

1: Definitions of re

1. In music terms, re is the second syllabic note in a diatonic scale (do re mi etc.)

2. Re: specifically with a colon at the end is often used as an abbreviation of 'reply' (especially in emails) and/or as the Latin re meaning 'regarding' or 'in reference to'

3. In most cases, re as a prefix/affix indicates 'back' (as in return) or 'again' (as in repetition)

2: Definitions of vale

1. The Middle English vale (pronounced like veil) is another term for valley (derived from the Latin vallis), used in literary/poetic contexts or place names to mean:

A low stretch of land surrounded by hills or mountains, usually with a river flowing through it

The world or mortal life (figuratively and often with connotations of sorrow or hardship, such as in the phrase "vale of tears")

2. In most modern uses, the Latin vale means 'farewell' or 'goodbye', especially in the context of death (apparently this is really common in Australia? I've never heard it before)

3. This use is derived from valeō (or present infinitive valēre), which basically means 'be well/healthy' - so vale in Latin means 'goodbye' in the sense of wishing someone good health, safe travels etc.

Valeō/valēre can also denote strength and worth, and it's the root of both valour and value

4. From what I can find, vale in Spanish is mainly used as a colloquial term similar to 'OK' or 'cool' in English, but it's an inflection of valer which can mean 'valid' or 'worth' and is also derived from the Latin valēre! everything is connected :D

TLDR two main uses of vale both derived from Latin: vallis meaning valley and valeō meaning to be well/healthy/strong/worth

3: What 1 year and 4 months of being a Re:vale fan does to a man

Yuki and Momo's symbols are both repeats, and the two dots (resembling a colon) are what distinguish repeats from final barlines in sheet music (more of me rambling about their symbols here - it's also where the design on their rings comes from, which is something that I keep realising and then instantly forgetting about).

Considering this, I think that the most relevant and likely intended meaning of the 're:' in Re:vale is repeat - we also see English words with the prefix used in this sense pretty frequently with Re-raise, 'revive' and 'rebirth' in Dis one., and 'restart' and 'reborn' in Period Colour. The 'back' aspect also has some significance here, especially in Re:member (the word remember doesn't mean you're like. membering again. it refers to memories. but the title re:member is very intentionally split that way because re:vale both gains and loses a member, so it works with both the again and back implications. anyways). This is also a bit of a recurring theme in i7, what with the whole "the ideal idol is one that doesn't end" thing.

Turning our attention to vale as in valley, once you look into it the whole "vale of tears" meaning doesn't really align with Re:vale unless you only interpret their story as a tragedy, but if you were to look it up and just see the definition "the world" with very little context, then it seems pretty fitting for the most famous currently active idols in the Idolish7 universe. But it actually symbolises how they mean the world to me and also to each other. And the figurative world of suffering that they have put me through thank you and goodnight. Just kidding there's more. I would say something about the valley (landform) and how Yuki is the river and Momo and Banri are the surrounding hills but you get the idea. Momo would live by the river...... he wouldlive by the river. I think about this every day

Anyways. So I really can't say how much of this is intentional but the 'goodbye' vale is especially accurate if you consider the underlying meaning - it's a way of saying goodbye, but it's also sort of a way of saying good luck and be strong. It's the same as how Banri has to say goodbye to Re:vale, but he also tells Yuki to "find a place to sing as yourself". And valour is kind of Trigger's thing (see: valiant) but reaching a little further for the 'value' meaning, it goes back to the whole Mikansei Na Bokura thing - all three of Re:vale's members had to lose something important to them, but the time they spent with it was still valuable and in the end they're able to retain those experiences and move forward to something just as valuable. In the end the name is a bit of a cluster of things vaguely related to them but I guess if you put it together it's like. The repetition of them saying this to each other. Yeah Momo after his injury getting that push from Yuki and Ban's concert to start saying goodbye and moving on and yeah like nitu said him affirming Yuki. Banri saying goodbye/I can't be there next to you anymore but I'll cheer you on from the sidelines and remember the time we spent together fondly and be able to smile once we meet again (<- from the end of his re:member pov). Yuki stabbing me 12 million times in the chest I mean um. Yuki... yeah I'm gonna need another 14 days to write that post let me get back to you on that one. But you get the idea. You get it

I think I had another point somewhere in here but this post has been sitting in my drafts for ages and I still haven't thought of it. But thank you very much for reading if you've gotten this far!!! As a reward you get a hug from me and the reference list :D

4: References

These aren't organised well at all but hopefully it's not too bad

Australian Writers' Centre: Q&A: The Origin of 'Vale'

Dictionary.com: Re • Vale

The English Idolish7 Wiki (my beloved)

Reddit: Contextual Use of "Vale"

Wiktionary: Vale • Valer • Valeō

also the google definitions of most of these terms but idk how to link those and I can't be bothered

[dystxpiansims]

Hello! I don't like to do this, but I think it needs to be done.

If you heard about Equiliberty, you probably heard about Jocelyn Flores, or Moe, or 2thedoe, or whatever her names are. I really didn't want to make this post, but seeing how she made a whole blog just to talk trash about other servers and people who are "harassing" her after her other blogs got taken down, I feel I need to say something and let others know what they would be joining into.

First I'd like to make a pointer here; Natalia does not take their time to dedicate "talking shit" about Jocelyn or whatever she goes by now. She only posted what felt was necessary to let others know what is going on behind closed doors that Jocelyn wants to keep pushing away as nothing and act the victim. Yes, maybe some of us said some things in the past, but what Jocelyn is doing is not cool.

What's really sad is I thought Jocelyn was an amazing person, but after all the things I've seen, I take it back. Sure she can be cool when she's not showing her true colors, but she can't own up to what she's done and take responsibility, and instead says she apologizes and then makes an entire tumblr blog dedicated to shit talking others and calling any other sims 4 equine communities/servers "competition". Your server isn't the only one, ma'am. Which shows one of the posts she's made on it below:

Secondly; what you're doing IS making a drama post by keeping it going. If it truly bothered you, just ignore it and keep going on with your life than wasting your energy on making an entire blog to be nasty towards others? You made your point, you block them, you go on, not have your 'friends' stalk them to keep you up to date with what's happening and keep stirring the pot by adding to your hate blog. And you're not transphobic??

Uh, I hate to break it to you but this:

This is the definition of transphobic. How can you say you want to respect them, but you don't want to even call them by their pronouns? You OBVIOUSLY don't respect them enough if you refuse to call them what they go by. Calling them by their desired name is the bare minimum, but it don't mean you respect them.

This may be an opinion, but this is a HARMFUL one. There are no "two genders". If you believe in science, then obviously you're not studying it hard enough. Sex? There is at least six:

X – Roughly 1 in 2,000 to 1 in 5,000 people (Turner’s )

XX – Most common form of female

XXY – Roughly 1 in 500 to 1 in 1,000 people (Klinefelter)

XY – Most common form of male

XYY – Roughly 1 out of 1,000 people

XXXY – Roughly 1 in 18,000 to 1 in 50,000 births

"Sex refers to biological attributes that distinguish organisms as male, female, intersex and hermaphrodite. Gender is a social construct, encompassing various psychological and social characteristics that collectively define individuals as men, women, non-binary or trans, etc." So obviously you don't believe in science enough to actually do your research, I presume? Don't make an "opinion" if you've never done any research on this type of a topic.

Yes, this is how we will run our community by making sure the person that has hurt multiple people don't join back and cause more problems. If someone causes you trauma in your childhood and you finally get away, would you want them to just come back in your life? I don't think so. Somethings CAN be forgiven, but obviously this is a big thing that hurts a big community, and you can't even take responsibility and give a lame apology to actually apologize for hurting others, but instead just to cover your tracks and protect yourself, along with "clearing out people who don't feel serves the server any purpose anymore" and in the midst of your breakdown, you ban this person who didn't do ANYTHING except check their balance because you weren't happy at the time.

Oh, by the way, here's the thing that I was referring to with the competition and once again dragging another server down in this "quote unquote" not a drama post. No one is poaching members from the server, they're doing that on their own. They're not going to stay in a server with someone they don't feel comfortable with. But AI generated logos? I was there during the time and I don't remember any AI generated logos? I remember a conversation about AI generated images and Jocelyn not agreeing with banning them or not seeing anything wrong with it and not seeing the point in getting angry over it.

No one attacked the server, Jocelyn. Everything that's been said was towards you who has ruined the server for everyone, even to the point removing general because you couldn't handle being called out and instead was lashing out at the others and acting the victim in the chat, deleting anything that even mentioned it or asked a question. OH! And kicking someone out of the server for simply asking a question for you to clarify what you said.

Only server I've ever had to walk on eggshells and scared to interact on was in Equiliberty - but that was because of you, and that's why I left. I was scared to interact after your little meltdown because if someone said anything there was a possibility of getting banned for no reason. But these servers? They feel truly like home and not once has there been any problems, and they actually listen to the members when there's a suggestion made.

Anywho, onto yet another post she had made!

No one has made accounts just to harass you - it's more like you who has done that, huh? And useless tumblr posts? It's pretty useful to me to avoid someone like you who can't seem to let things go and keep it going and not even take responsibility of your actions.

Quite sad you won't even take in other peoples words when trying to tell you there isn't just "two genders". No one is making the LGBTQ+ more important than the "other factors" but we're tired of not being taken serious and being brushed aside as if we're nothing but garbage. Yes, we all matter equally, but to go out of your own way to downsize the importance of this is quite astonishing. To be going around saying "it's just my opinion" and very clearly saying you won't be calling someone by their pronouns because what YOU see isn't what they identify or feel like or even "pass" as but yet you still "respect" them really shows the type of person you are and to lie to cover your own ass too on top of it. Uh huh. I sure as all hell don't feel respected, you've lost all my respect for you.

Many people have posted straight from the source of where things were said and done, so you're right! Never assume! People know who you truly are now, ma'am.

And here she is with her saying her other accounts have been deleted and ofc this being her first post! Totally not drama posts, right?? RIGHT?? So, there's my proof of her verifying this whole blog is dedicated to harassing others and talking shit and trying to turn it around on the ones who tell and show the truth. Have a good life Jocelyn, but sooner or later, others who are sticking around you and protecting you will realize who you truly are.

[feralferretxp]

Headcanon: Bang is from a rich household/had a noble upbringing

Alright, I know this post is quite long compared to what I normally post. Just kinda went off with it, heh. I've had this post idea for a loooooong time but finally got around to this, so let's go!

So I don't know how many people also think this, but I'm willing to bet my bottom dollar that Bang is from a wealthy family and had some sort of noble upbringing. Like kinda Similar to Shaggy from Scooby Doo (these two actually have a lot in common the more I think about it) But anyway, I'm gonna give some evidence to support this headcannon.

First off is his full name: Bangford Bipplebop III. I mean, come on, that's one fancy sounding name. Plus, this means he's part of a lineage of some sort.

Now for clips:

In the 1st clip, Bro's legit using gold as a napkin while eating chocolate. He loves that bar of chocolate more than a bar of gold, which is saying something. Either he has no worries about wealth or just that he's a big foodie. Could be both ngl

The 2nd one is just him showing off his money. I mean, nothing really to add here. I know it could just be for a gag, but still.

So Bang doesn't show concern about wealth. Plus, look at Bing's reactions of concern and shock in both clips, which would be a typical person's reaction to seeing these things, but Bang just rolls with it, I guess.

I could also go off about the whole "Stocks" episode in Answer Time S2, where Bang basically gets dragged into starting a multi-billion dollar business that he didn't even want to start at all. He just wanted to learn what stocks are for a question. When the company's stocks plummeted, he wasn't as sad or devastated as Sue, the investor who helped start the business. He was never in it for the money or cared about having it.

Another point is that he's shown to have proper etiquette and manners, despite being depicted as laid-back dude who's very relaxed.

The 3rd clip is when 341B was talking to Lady Eleanor III, a royal architect for the Queen. While the other members chatter and greet her casually, Bang merely waves politely and even puts his hands behind his back as a sign of respect. What a distinguished little gentleman

And the 4th one is when they said hello to a kid named "King" and Bang does a kneel/bow gesture. Bing also does this, but I think he does it in a more silly/less serious way because you would think then that this is a group gag for all of them to bow, yet Bo doesn't. Bang does it more formally.

So yeah, Bang knows proper etiquette when dealing with noble people, so he must've learned this somewhere. Perhaps when growing up.

I just also like this headcanon in general since even if he had a wealthy upbringing, he's very humble and kind. He's not snooty or upright, which not saying all rich people are like that, but just showing how he made his own choice at one point in his life to just be loose and down to earth. He doesn't care about having wealth, but rather values friendships and the simple pleasures of life. Plus with him being super coded as a hippie type, I imagine he went that route despite what his parents wanted or expected of him, with Bang also being part of a lineage and such.

I do wonder if we will ever get to see his or the rest of 341B's families and what they're like. I'm just really curious and love learning about the worldbuilding of the storybot world and seeing glimpses of 341B's lives outside of work. I love seeing stuff like that in stories.

But yeah, let me know what you guys think or want to add to this theory/headcanon! I don't personally think this is something hard to get behind, I mean, just his name alone gives off some sort of impression that he's not just some average joe off the street.

[the-sweets-stakes]

Romance Tropes Tournament aka The Sweets-Stakes!

Based on a bracket I saw a friend run, I wondered how a Tumblr Tournament for Romance Tropes would work - thus was born the idea of the Sweets-Stakes!

Now next, I would like you to nominate your favorite trope by filling out this tiny three-question Google form (name of trope, why you think it's the greatest, and optionally a link to a description of the trope) - looking forward to seeing how many we'll assemble, and which tropes will be submitted ten-fold because everyone loves them (this will have no influence on proceedings! only your votes in the sweets-stakes (eventual Tumblr brackets) will!)

And since Trope Favorites differ for me depending on whether I write or read them, that will be a distinction here, as well as what kind of romance we're talking about: straight or queer, and I also do wonder whether some tropes are seen differently in romances that focus on trans protagonists, so they will get their own sweets-stakes too.

(more info under the cut, since this is already getting long!)

By which I don't mean that those tropes are (or should be) exclusive to those categories; it's rather that, for example, the trope of Friends To Lovers hits different if person A, who knows themselves to be queer, doesn't even know if their friend B, of the same gender, is even interested in them that way, or if A would, by revealing their feelings, risk not just destroying their friendship but also running into homophobia as well. And even within the realm of queer romance, I think there'll be differences between stories with two male protagonists and stories with two female protagonists, as well as between stories with trans protagonists.

Basically, I posit the hypothesis that different tropes will hit differently in different communities, and I'm interested to see if the sweets-stakes will reflect that!

Which 😅 brings us to a total of eight sweets-stakes to run:

M/F romance tropes for readers

M/F romance tropes for writers

F/F romance tropes for readers

F/F romance tropes for writers

M/M romance tropes for readers

M/M romance tropes for writers

trans-focused romance tropes for readers

trans-focused romance tropes for writers

(which also allows, at the very end, to run the ultimate sweets-stakes between the winners of all of these, and fine The Only One Bed Trope of Tropes!)

Oh, and we'll go with the following definition of trope:

a recurring element or a frequently used plot device in a work of literature. It can be a theme, person, place, thing, or situation. For example:

Theme: Friends to Lovers

Person: The Bookworm

Place: Close-Knit Community

Thing: Grandma's Engagement Ring

Situation: Snowed In

(I'm not gonna distinguish between them in the brackets; if Grandma's Engagement Ring comes up against The Bookworm, so be it. This is already granular enough, no need to subdivide further!)

[deadpresidents]

If for some reason George W Bush had run against Jeb Bush for the republican nomination who would have won?

That's a pretty great idea for a topic for historians to debate.

I think people forget how effective of a campaigner that George W. Bush was. Yes, he was pretty goofy at times and a master of malapropisms. But he was pretty incredible on the campaign trail in front of smaller crowds and as a one-on-one retail politician. Much like Lyndon B. Johnson, those skills did not translate to television and, on many occasions, it reinforced the idea that Bush was dumb. But simply believing that Bush was dumb is one of the reasons why so many people underestimated him -- and that made him a very dangerous opponent for pretty much everybody that he ran against beginning with Ann Richards in his first race for Governor of Texas to John McCain and Al Gore in 2000 and finally to John Kerry in 2004. That was evident in his Presidential debate performances. In my opinion, Bush probably lost the first of his three debates to John Kerry in 2004, but I've always felt that he won the other two debates against Kerry and all three debates against Al Gore in 2000.

George W. Bush was also one of the most disciplined leading Presidential candidates of the past 40-50 years. He stayed on message, no matter where he was campaigning, who he was campaigning against, or what other news might have been seeping into coverage of him at the time. That was a credit to his enormously talented political teams over the years, but it was also the result of hard work. He'd still say something odd or mangle a few sentences at every campaign stop, but you never had to guess where he stood on the positions he built his campaigns upon.

While he was certainly no Ronald Reagan or Barack Obama when it came to charisma, George W. Bush did have his own unique brand of charisma. Despite his background and the privileges he had from day one due to his family name and his father's accomplishments, Bush had a real ability to connect with people while campaigning. People genuinely liked him. I mean, that's even better understood now when you hear about his relationship with his surprise BFF Michelle Obama or with fellow Presidents Bill Clinton and Barack Obama. Many of his political opponents have noted in interviews or books that they've found it hard not to like him once they got to know him. Again, that's an attribute that doesn't translate well to television, but it was clearly a strength when he was meeting folks while campaigning. He made a lot of people want to vote for him -- as opposed to John Kerry, whose personality didn't inspire a whole lot of fervent supporters in 2004 (I say that with personal experience).

Jeb Bush was a more serious, wonky politician -- with a personality more similar to that of their father whereas George W. famously took after his outspoken, direct mother. Jeb did not easily connect with voters, and was a more naturally cautious politician while George W. was more emotional and decisive (for better and worse). One example of Jeb's cautious nature is demonstrated by the poor timing of his eventual candidacy for President. Once Jeb finally decided to run for President in 2016 he was nearly 10 years removed from the end of his term as Governor of Florida. He jumped into a crowded field where it was difficult to distinguish himself despite his famous last name (and the exclamation point behind his first name on his campaign logo) and was steamrolled by Donald Trump. I think George W. probably would have defended himself and his family against Trump's attacks better than Jeb did if George W. had been the candidate in 2016 instead of an ex-President in retirement. Jeb's 2016 campaign was almost sad in how timid he came across at times against Trump.

Both brothers were born with more advantages than most people will ever have come their way in a lifetime. But I do think George W. tried to be someone other than his father's son more than Jeb ever did. George W. ran for Governor of Texas in 1994 despite the fact that his opponent was the legendary Governor Ann Richards. Jeb ran for Governor of Florida the same year, and their parents believed that Jeb was the Bush son with the real political future and kind of saw George W.'s candidacy as a hopeless cause. But on Election night in 1994, George W. was victorious and Jeb was not. I think that Jeb Bush wanted to follow in his father's footsteps, but George W. wanted to surpass George H.W. Bush's legacy. He didn't in terms of the quality of his Presidency, but George W. Bush did get reelected as President while George H.W. Bush was only a one-term President.

So, in a head-to-head race, I think George W. would probably smoke Jeb. He was just that much more skilled as a politician. Plus, a brother vs. brother matchup would probably be emotionally difficult for anybody and I think George W. clearly had more of a killer instinct than Jeb ever did (that's probably a perfect setup for a drone strike or war crimes comment). Bush had no problem running a ruthless campaign, either. If you don't know what I mean, look up the 2000 South Carolina GOP primary campaign against McCain and the Swift Boat ads against Kerry in '04 (he was also one of the hatchet men for his father during the 1988 campaign against Michael Dukakis, which was one of the nastiest campaigns in American history up to that point). Anyway, I just think George W. was a better politician than Jeb ever hoped to be. In fact, from a purely political perspective -- as a campaigner out on the trail, as a one-on-one retail politician, even as a debater -- George W. was probably a more talented politician than his father. Of course, George W. was nowhere near as experienced or competent as George H.W. Bush was as President. But George W. would easily defeat his brother in a one-on-one campaign and I think he'd even give his father some trouble on the trail in a one-on-one race between them. And then if he was elected, he'd promptly become the really bad President we all remember him as!

Great question and interesting thought experiment!

[reunionatdawn]

My Analysis of the Best Paired Endings in 3H (Part 9: Caspar/Petra)

Catherine: When I told you I would cut down children with no hesitation, you looked disgusted. I take it that's the part you're struggling to accept? Caspar: Pretty much. I don't think I'd be able to do it, even if that meant disobeying orders.

Caspar and Ferdinand are the two most difficult students to recruit outside of their home routes because they can only get C-Support with Byleth before the time-skip. And this corresponds to how difficult it is for them to leave the Empire from an emotional standpoint. They can't even be recruited in Hopes. Caspar wasn't sure when to obey orders or act on his own morality. He got reprimanded for doing so in his C-Support with Byleth, and that single incident had a huge impact on his development.

Shez: You're taking this awfully well. Weren't you and Caspar childhood friends? Linhardt: Yes, but that is of little consequence now. He is not fighting for honor or any greater purpose. War is just his way of life, and he doesn't have the slightest intention of dying or losing.

Caspar has never known any other way of life but fighting and making a name for himself on the battlefield.

Caspar: Something is kinda bothering me. I was talking to someone the other day about how I want to distinguish myself in battle, and they said that meant I wanted the war to go on forever. Of course, I told them they were nuts… Then I actually started thinking about it. About what I'll be doing when the war ends, I mean. About what I'll even…be. Ferdinand: I do not think you have cause to worry. We may not know what the future holds, but you are delivering great results as a leader. Surely you will be held in esteem for such? Caspar: Sure, but doesn't that just mean my life is about nothing but fighting? I'm not a guy like you who's good at pretty much everything, so… Ha! Listen to me. I can't remember the last time I got in my own head like this.

He was more introspective about his circumstances in Hopes. But that only reinforced how unhappy he was with his way of life. It wasn't fulfilling for him to live only for war, but he had no real sense of identity other than as a warrior.

Caspar: Oh. Hey, Professor. I was just reading this letter from my father. Do you know him? He's a pretty big deal in the Empire. He only writes to ask how my training's going, or how many monsters I've killed. Stuff like that.

Caspar had a strong desire to punish evil in the world, but he possessed a very black-and-white sense of morality. That simplistic view of good and evil probably came from his father, the famous warlord Count Bergliez.

Caspar: My father was responsible for a lot of what happened to the Dagdans! Shamir: Are you responsible for your father's actions? Caspar: Well, no…but kinda? I know I wasn't there, but I gotta—

It is much easier to invade and conquer when you convince yourself that the enemy is evil.

Caspar: After we cross the Great Bridge of Myrddin, we'll be in my father's territory. We actually crossed it five years ago for the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. Remember? Ugh! This is terrifying! What am I gonna do? I gotta get a grip… Byleth: Don't worry, I'll arrange for your funeral. Caspar: You think we'll meet him on the battlefield and he'll kill me? The front lines cover a long stretch of land, you know! We might not even run into him!

Caspar was also terrified of his father. He didn't like the sound of thunder because it reminded him of his father yelling at him when he screwed up.

Caspar: All right! Off to the Kingdom's capital we go! What's the matter? Should I not be excited? I can't help it. Everyone's gotta have something to look forward to!

I was really struck by Caspar's demeanor in CF. He only ever focused on taking out whatever enemies he was ordered to and barely had anything else to say.

Caspar: It's so awful to see the Kingdom capital go up in flames, but at least we made it this far!

He fought alongside the Death Knight and invaded other nations without question. It was as though Count Bergliez was hovering over his shoulder the entire time.

Catherine: You have a strong sense of justice. You have clearly defined ideals. But that's not an asset on the battlefield. Ideals slow you down. They cause inner conflict.

It was truly sad because that wasn't who he was. He had his own ideals and criticized Catherine for submitting her sense of justice to another person. It made me realize that CF!Caspar couldn't do anything else but focus on fighting because otherwise the inner conflict would have destroyed him.

Caspar: I think… I can't deny who I am. I know you were right five years ago when you told me not to chase after that suspicious guy… But I still can't get over the possibility that he might have hurt those kids. I would have regretted not stopping him for the rest of my life. There's no way I could forgive myself. It sounds awful to say, but the safety of those kids is more important to me than the knights we lost.

His character arc was about realizing that it's okay not to follow orders and that he should live according to his own sense of justice.

Caspar: I've been wandering on my own for five years. I won't go back to that house or my father, that's for sure!

And leaving his father was necessary for him to do so.

Caspar: We weren't related by blood, but Randolph was still my uncle… Seeing him end up that way was… Never mind. It's nothing. Byleth: That's how it goes with war. Caspar: This wasn't just about war. It was a grudge. Or are you gonna tell me you're on Dimitri's side? I'm sure he never trusted me, being born in the Empire and all.

Like Ferdinand, Caspar can only access his Paralogue—where he can confront the "evil" Death Knight—if he defects from the Empire. The game incentivizes you to recruit him in AM, too. Not only does he share his Paralogue with Mercedes, but doing so in AM unlocks an additional scene for her to say goodbye to Emile. I'd argue that he has the best arc in AM due to his connection to Randolph. It was important for him to see the war from the side from the Empire's victims, so that he could have his worldview challenged.

Petra: It feels like…a knife against my throat. That I am making my grandfather obey the Empire. Because I am a hostage, it is not an option to be giving up. I must be fighting and winning and staying alive. I must do anything to be making life better for Brigid. To be making Brigid and the Empire stand as equals. That is what my people are wanting from me…and what my grandfather, the king of Brigid, is wanting! Byleth: And what do you want? Petra: My want? I…I am not knowing of that. The wants of my people are something I have power to achieve. Their wants are my own.

As a political hostage to the Empire, Petra fought extremely hard to survive, not for herself, but so that Brigid could live independently and stand as equals with the Empire. But when Byleth asked her what she wanted, she didn't even know. She needed to figure out what she wanted for herself, not just what other people wanted.

Ferdinand: Do you not want to go back to your homeland? Petra: I do have the hope of returning one day, but Fódlan is also like a homeland to me now. I came to Fódlan nine years ago. I have been living half of my life here. My family is living in Brigid, but in Fódlan, I have new family and new friends.

So, what did Petra want? Well, she wanted to return home, but she also wanted to stay connected to her new family, and to use their political connections to improve relations with Brigid and Fódlan.

Petra: When this war is finished, I am wishing for you to be seeing my homeland. Dorothea: You…you are? Oh my. I'd love to, Petra. As soon as the fighting is done, I'd like nothing more than to see Brigid with you.

She wanted to bring her friends back home with her to visit. Whether you go for their romantic paired ending or are content to leave them as friends, her Support with Dorothea showed how important it was for her to maintain permanent connections with her classmates.

Petra: I am not having an obligation. I will only be marrying if I find a good person.

And she also wanted a husband from Fódlan.

Petra: My father was killed. By the Empire. By your father. And so I will be impaling you on this blade to be satisfying a deep wish of mine. Caspar: A deep wish… What are you talking about?! Petra: I am talking about my wish. Of course…I am also having another wish. An even deeper wish. I wish for you and I to keep being friends. To keep fighting and surviving together.

Petra had one other deeply held wish. She wanted to kill Count Bergliez. She always bottled up her true feelings and never expressed what she really thought. She was always gung-ho about fighting and said war fed her body and mind. She may have acted like she was fine with her situation, but she was really not. She didn't want to kill people in the name of the Empire that invaded Brigid and killed her father, and she had a lot of rage underneath her calm surface.

Caspar: Well, I guess even a queen can't push her feeling down forever. I can't imagine what it must've been like to go through what you did. But I think I can still relate. Petra: Umm… Caspar: Hey, here's an idea. From now on, take it out on me. Petra: No. This is silliness. There is no point in killing you. Caspar: I'm not talking about killing, Petra. What I want you to do is unload on me! Tell me off! Just talk to me about whatever it is you're feeling. If all your hate becomes too much, dump it on me. If you wanna hit something, I'm your guy. I just want us to keep being friends, alright?

Caspar was the only character she ever showed that side of herself to. In Hopes, she wanted to kill him, but he offered for her to take her pain out on him. He was the one person she could talk to and be open and honest with because he was the same. And Petra was more raw and emotionally vulnerable with him than anyone else.

Petra & Caspar Petra returned to her homeland of Brigid, and inherited the throne from her grandfather. As ruler, she declared independence from Fódlan, and renegotiated Brigid's diplomatic ties to Fódlan and Dagda on more equal terms. At every step along the way, she was accompanied and supported by her husband, Caspar, who had left Fódlan behind to be with her. It is said that the people of Brigid were initially suspicious of the union, due to Caspar's relation to a nemesis of their homeland, but that his tireless efforts on Brigid's behalf endeared them to him over time. It certainly helped that he made the queen very happy.

Petra didn't have an obligation to get married. She just wanted someone to share all of her heart with. Caspar was never particularly envious of his brother, and he always liked hard work. So, working tirelessly for Brigid is a better way to live than inheriting his father's position and becoming the new Minister of Military Affairs.

I don't think the writers necessarily pushed for either Caspar or Petra to be paired with anyone in particular. Many of their paired endings work just as fine. Still, the Caspar/Petra ending is one where Petra can have everything she wants, including someone who she can be truly open and honest with. And it is the only one where Caspar can directly address the damage caused by his imperialist father. So, I consider it the best one for them.

[beautifulpersonpeach]

Crazy how people just get blinders on. All these people throwing names and accusations at JK over, what? Two songs and an instagram post? Completely forgetting the fact that JK has been working on JJK1 for literally years. Six or seven years if I remember correctly. They forget that he's an accomplished songwriter and producer in his own merit and has written and contributed to some of the best songs BTS have ever made. Where are these accusations that he's some kind of money hungry lazy bubblegum pop barbie doll coming from? (This is a rhetorical question, I just think it's insane.) He's a perfectionist, is obviously working on his own music (judging by how he ran off to the studio at 4am after missing jimin hours) and is likely in the process of deciding all the minute details for his own debut? Did the fandom communally forget that he mentioned wanting to do a visual album in his BE interview? He's got big plans, just because he's not talking about them doesn't mean they're not happening. and god, after how absolutely weird jay park was about hobi being on his show and how shady he's been about the guys in the past, I'd take a thousand JB collabs over another interaction with him.

***

Hear hear.

I agree with you mostly, but I want to use one part of your ask to make a larger point on something else I’ve noticed for some time, on how we talk about the fandom.

“Did the fandom communally forget…”

We all do this when talking about the fandom/ARMY, but something I want to point out is often times, in these sorts of situations, it’s not the same groups of people within the fandom who are doing these things. It’s not the same people who view JK the way you do, who are complaining about a (potential) JB collab. The fandom is just so big that whenever a certain faction decides to be loud, or if you’re in a space that interacts frequently with that faction of the fandom, it will seem like it’s most ARMYs having that view when it’s far from reality. And this is why the sub-labels within the fandom are useful so we can distinguish who is saying what, to avoid needless confusion. The sub-labels being: solo stans, diet solo stans, shippers, multis, mantis, OT7 ARMYs, etc.

That the knee jerk reaction to one studio pic is assuming JK is mindlessly playing fiddle for ‘payola boy’ because JK wants to chart easily and because Bang PD is everyone’s favourite Disney villain, is the first dead giveaway this reaction is coming from someone who doesn’t keep up with JK besides through their pre-conceived notions, or someone who views him and his work in direct competition with the other members. There’s been an outbreak of diet solo stans and mantis in the fandom in Chapter 2 but they still don’t make up most of the fandom.

I suspect some people are feeling sensitive, a bit pissed off and frustrated with BB’s rule change and how that impacts Jimin’s solo accolades, and so those who feel JK’s in competition with JM, catastrophized one picture of JK actively working on a solo project with a producer to mean a JB collab that could threaten the hard-won records for Jimin. Most of the people who tend to think like this, are solo stans, mantis, and their diet versions within ARMY.

For most everyone else in the fandom and especially with OT7 ARMYs, there’s the understanding that any BTS member doing well is a good thing, that the fandom generally works to aid them all in doing well, and that every BTS member is already doing well. Sometimes some members will perform better on the charts, but that’s normal and expected. FACE won’t be Jimin’s only solo project in 2023, and Jungkook has been making songs for years, meaning there’ll be several more opportunities for ARMYs to support both their projects better.

I understand it’s easier to generalize the fandom when speaking casually and generally, I do the same thing too. But I think it’s worth remembering all the different players in the fandom, how many have conflicting interests, and that many times if you see contradictory responses coming from the fandom, it’s simply not the same groups of people flip-flopping, changing their tune, or otherwise kicking up a stink. Anyone looking from the outside in could make that mistake in assuming it’s the same groups of people, but those of us within the fandom could improve the conversation by identifying who exactly are driving these narratives when we discuss them.

[terezis]

how Did you like nona tho?

short answer: i liked it! i didn't love it. as of this exact moment, having read it twice, i think that nona the ninth should have been pruned mercilessly and put into a very long alecto. (breaking dawn is 756 pages! they could’ve done it!!!) it didn’t need to be its own book, and does not do enough to justify itself as one. 

that said: it was still pretty good!!! 

long answer: i’m gonna be spicy first and then talk about what i liked LOL... spoilers under the cut

most of my criticism here comes back to the fact that this was originally meant to be the first act of alecto the ninth. you can tell. i definitely feel like i have read the beginning of alecto. like, don't get me wrong, most of nona stands on its own as a story, and it's a fun read; but you could have cut a good third of this book and it wouldn't have changed anything. 

we spend a frankly OBSCENE amount of time on nona's daily life when we could have gotten the picture in forty pages... and for all that she's deeply invested in her home life, her time at school, and her friends, the book fails to make ME care, which is disappointing because i know tamsyn muir is capable of doing so.

i mean, in the first two books everyone was uniquely delightful and felt like they could be the main character of a different story. it was hilarious to watch gideon interact with silas and colum; i love the original lyctors. but why should i care about beautiful ruby, whom i cannot distinguish from the other one, what's his name, born in the morning? we suffer? hell, even the angel???

you could replace pash with any nameless rebel and the story wouldn't change overmuch; the fact that she's apparently wake's niece has no relevance, except that it makes her hate zombies more… but most people in this book do, so who cares. what’s the point.

likewise, details and subplots that, in previous books, would have become relevant to the larger story at some point, don't seem to matter as much in nona. is that because they're going to be addressed again in alecto, or because they actually don't matter? i can’t tell.

take for example: hot sauce’s burns. compare it to something like abigail's backstory; it's a minor detail, but her interest in lyctoral history ended up spooking cytherea, which got her murdered, kickstarting the main conflict of the first book.

am i being too nitpicky here? did it not feel like those burns were supposed to be more relevant than they were? especially after we learn that she thinks edenites are too soft, so she hangs out with a fringe group implied to be responsible for the zombie burnings? but neither thing ever comes up again. is it just flavor? 

also consider: the different factions of the blood of eden, namely the hopers, who we’re frequently TOLD are major obstacles to the characters’ immediate goals, but who we rarely see become a problem. we suffer says it’s hard to convince them of anything, but they never really refuse her in any meaningful way. what are the stakes? is this the same group who previously killed 18,000 cohort soldiers with a space nuke? where's the oomph??? 

i feel like all of the above is also exacerbated by the fact that the entire book is told from nona's pov, and nona just does not give a single shit about the larger conflicts happening around her. it's not her fault. if i were her, i don't know if i'd care either. but as a result she spends SO MUCH of the book away from the action, which sucks when the best parts of this book are when she actually gets to be involved. 

i loved when she snuck out to talk to varun; when she listened to cam's tapes; when she and hot sauce ran off to see the broadcast. those parts fucked!!! i liked when she got to throw a tantrum!!! it was spooky!!! let her loose!!! i guess she has been let loose now, but it would've been nice if it had happened sooner.

look, i know this is a lot of criticism for a book i keep saying i liked. i really did enjoy it. harrow the ninth also had to grow on me, and u know i love that shit now. i like when a book is a puzzle, and the locked tomb is one of those thousand piece motherfuckers. right now nona gets a 6.5/10 from me, but mayhaps that will change on another reread.

anyways here's my highlight reel:

i was thrilled when gideon woke up and made a joke about stealing palamedes' girl

it’s so fucked up that ianthe wore babs' body like a little suit (complimentary) and when that body hugged corona omg. recall the last time the sisters saw each other. so fucking juicy. i love her

i LOVED the nun. pre-res anastasia? when she did the thing with the gun??? delicious

the thing with anastasia's bones at the very end Intrigued Me Deeply, and i want to know more about her relationship with alecto

the part where pyrrha told nona about her terrible shirt made me cry, which is funny bc the shirt had a sex joke on it

THE PART WHEN AIGLAMENE TOOK GIDEON'S FACE IN HER HANDS AND FLINCHED BACKWARDS BECAUSE SHE RELEASED SHE WAS LOOKING AT A CORPSE, AND SAID THEY KILLED YOU, AND GIDEON JOKED ABOUT IT, AND AIGLAMENE TURNED TO HARROW FURIOUSLY FOR LETTING GIDEON DIE, OW MY HEART

did not expect gideon to do a kill on crux, liked it, liked how she reacted to it, still don't think it's really gideon as we know her though

like she was MEAN. she was so sassy!!! i know she is sassy in general, but she was like NICE sassy in the other books, why is she acting like the villain version of herself, the stuff she said about becoming john's cavalier was so fucking weird, i don't think it was a front??? but why would she want that??? she was so MEAN

i hope she and ianthe are actually friendship bracelet wearing buds though like imagine when harrow finds that out. hilarious

i REALLY liked the fucked up nun. like a LOT