#the kids are in a love hate relationship with both

[sevikaswinkinghole]

A Weekend in Paradise˚⋆𓇼˚⊹ 𖦹 ⁺｡°

you and sevika take a trip away from everything

NSFW

modern!subtop!sevika, powerbottom!reader, pet names (doll, sweetheart, pup, etc.), scissoring, drunk sex (between consenting adults obviously……), Sevika is extra needy-

Word Count: 2.4k

𓆉 ⋆.˚ 𓆝⋆.˚

“Come on vika it’s just for a weekend!” You exclaimed, trying to hold your phone in Sevika’s face to show her the website you had been perusing. You’d spent the last 15 minutes trying to convince your stubborn girlfriend that she needed a vacation.

With the stress of both of your jobs, the mundanity of everyday living, and life in general, it felt like your relationship was falling into a hard domestic slump. Sevika was usually so busy and stressed that you were getting stressed just from her energy around your shared apartment. You happened to find a good deal on a resort stay in Jamaica, and the plane tickets weren’t too pricey that time of year. The thought of relaxing on the beach with a drink in your hand and Sevika next to you made your heart swoon and your stomach flutter.

The biggest problem was going to be getting the most loyal work obsessed person ever to take a break for once in her life.

“I have a lot of work to do (Y/N)..” she spoke tiredly, not looking up from the slew of paperwork on her desk. Her position as a diplomatic counselor was incredibly important, which meant she put all her time and energy into being as orderly and focused on the tasks at hand, which also meant you recently became second on her list of importance. The long nights of paperwork, meetings that ran well past her work hours, and early morning conference calls were starting to get in the way of the one you love- and the sex life you wanted back.

Sevika hadn’t touched you in weeks purely from stress, and she was usually too exhausted to be touched. So this trip was your big attempt to pull her out of the dark cloud of work and onto a sandy beach and a private resort.

“Sevika, my love, you work so hard.” You pulled her office chair away from her desk before plopping down on the larger woman’s lap, both your hands trailing up her clothed torso before cupping her strong jaw “I’m worried you’re spreading yourself too thin! You can take a couple days off from diplomacy to spend some time with me..can’t you?” You spoke softly, your eyes locking with hers.

Her tired grey eyes softened at the glint of hope in yours, her mech arm resting on your hip as she rubbed small circles into your side. Sevika knew how distant she had been for a while, and even at her busiest she missed the warmth of your touch. Work was driving her crazier and crazier by the day, and she hated letting it get in the way of her time and energy for you. She was truly starting to feel the effects of burn out, and a vacation away for a weekend would probably solve more than she ever realized. “Alright doll….if it makes you happy, we can take the trip-“

You squealed in excitement before she could even finish her sentence, peppering a million kisses all over her face as your legs kicked happily “Yay thank you baby! We’re going to Jamaica!!!!”

-

After another week of planning and scheduling everything from resort stays, to transportation, to activities for a long weekend trip, the traveling day finally came.

You and Sevika woke up at the ass crack of dawn to get to the airport on time. She insisted on keeping up with everything you owned and acted like a dad the entire time. You just stood next to her while she handled getting luggage in the uber, handling passports at the airport, even when TSA stopped your carry on for a bottle of perfume she almost argued the guy down for it. You had to pull her away and assure her you’d get more later.

The flight was long but the moment you touched down on the island it was truly a paradise. The views on the shuttle to the resort were beautiful and sevika took a million pictures and grinned like a kid the whole ride. It made your heart swell seeing the child-like wonder in her eye as she looked at the lush green foliage and blue waters of Jamaica.

Once you made it to your resort and Sevika did a million different room checks of your bed and closets, you practically passed out across the bed. The plush hotel sheets felt like heaven after a day of long travel and you wanted nothing more than to sleep the weekend away already. But you were so excited for the trip that you made reservations for a romantic dinner on your first night of vacay together.

Sevika laid next to you on the bed, her flesh arm immediately finding your waist and pulling you close “I’m glad we did this..” she admitted softly, a gentle blush creeping up on her cheeks. Her honesty making up for any hesitance she had about taking a break.

You smiled happily “I am too. You deserve time off Vika…working is important but you need time for yourself.” You spoke quietly as you caressed her cheek, getting a bit lost in her stormy eyes before pulling her in for a gentle kiss. It was innocent at first, Sevika’s scarred lips moving against yours with knowing precision, like she had a map of your lips engrained in her mind.

But as her tongue grazed past your lower lip, your body moved faster than your brain as your leg swung over Sevika’s hip. She instantly grabbed the underside of your thigh and pulled you closer, the movement deepening the lust filled kiss.

Her clothed thigh slotted perfectly between your legs as her tongue explored your mouth, your body melting into her touch and your hips unceremoniously grinding against the muscle in Sevika’s thigh. She pulled away from the kiss and groaned against your lips, her flesh hand gripping the plump skin of your thigh as her mech hand slid down your stomach.

“Baby what about dinner-” you pouted, the sun was beginning to set outside and you wanted the romantic first night you planned.

She nodded and kissed along your cheek and down to your earlobe, nuzzling the skin around it with her nose before gently biting on your lobe “We can go after i’m done with you..” she purred in your ear, sending a flood of warmth straight to your clit.

“Noooo we can do this after dinner!” You exclaimed hesitantly as you pulled yourself away from your girlfriend’s strong grip to get dressed. Her bruising strength could overpower you any day, but she loved you too much to fight back. So she instead decided to grumble under her breath the entire time it took her to shower and get ready for dinner.

-

Your legs carried your sluggish body through the halls of the resort. You and Sevika had a lovely dinner by the water front, and the food was some of the best cuisine you’d had in your life. But after an eventful dinner, Sevika insisted on “checking out” the resort bar next to the restaurant. And after one too many strawberry daiquiris and a couple shots of Jamaican rum at the bar, you two faced the challenge of getting back to the room.

You were no lightweight. But even after years of college drinking, adult drinking, and even some underaged indulgence, nothing could ever compared to whatever they poured you at that bar. Sevika was a tall lady, it took a lot to barely get her tipsy. You once tried to out drink her when you first got together, but you don’t remember getting home that night and woke up to a losers hangover. But even big strong Sevika was swaying on her way back to the room. You unlocked the room door and pushed inside, immediately stripping from your dress and heels as the intoxication made you all giggly and ready to lay down.

“Dinner was soooo good Vika” Your voice slurred a little as you laid on your back across the hotel bed. Sevika had been unusually quiet since you left the bar, but you were so drunk you barely noticed. She stripped down to her boxers and took off her mech arm before meeting you on the bed. As she hovered over you and buried her head into your chest, you casually ran your fingers through her hair, barely hearing the whiny groan that reverberated into your chest and sent the vibrations down south.

“You okay hun?” You ask, looking down at the love of your life cuddled into your skin. She was notably warm and fidgeting against your touch, her hips rutting against your leg as her soft grey eyes looked up to meet yours. Her pupils were heavily dilated and her hands gripped at your sides hopelessly.

“M-Missed your touch..” She groaned softly as her leg slotted between yours, grinding against the muscle in your leg needily. You rarely saw Sevika drunk, with her high tolerance and ability to control her intake. But with her guard dropped on vacation, you realized why you never saw her this inebriated. She’s a submissive horny drunk. “Missed you…” She whimpered pathetically, sending pressure to all the right places.

You move your hand to caress your lover’s cheek as your other free hand moves to assist Sevika in slotting her clothed mound onto yours. The poor thing was already soaking through her boxers as you pulled her close “You missed me sweet girl?” You spoke, helping her get into position “Show me” Your voice deep and sensual, sending a shockwave of heat and fire down to your love’s clit.

Her flesh arm looped under your leg and placed it over her shoulder as she settled on top of you, her covered clit bulging through her boxers and pressing against yours deliciously. Sevika moaned as her hips moved against your hungrily. You watched through hooded eyes as your big and strong girlfriend whined and whimpered for some over the clothes dry humping. Her eyebrows furrowed together and her eyes shut tightly as her clothed cunt weeped for more.

“Need-” She started, her voice trailing off as she got lost in the motion. Her eyes almost rolled back as she thrusted into you “..need more of you” She whined like a desperate slut. You moaned at the sight, your gorgeous girl getting so flustered on top of you she couldn’t help but whine oh so pathetically. It almost made you want to flip her over and make her cum all night. Almost.

“Okay sweet girl,” You cooed, helping her take off her boxers before taking off your own underwear. Once Sevika was freed from her damp cotton prison, she immediately got back into position and started grinding her needy clit into yours. Her slick coating you and your thighs while she moaned like a whiny pornstar on top of you. People often assumed because of her height and stature that Sevika was always on top, putting you through the mattress, and taking charge. But at times like this, you knew you had all the control.

“Fuck I love this pussy..missed it s-so much…” Sevika stuttered, your hands moving to grip at Sevika’s thick thighs as you moaned at the view of her between your legs. Her desperate movements sending pure pleasure through every blood vessel in your body.

“You look so good like this Vika…fuck you’re drowning me” You groaned out, throwing your head back against the pillows. Your own slick was adding to the sinful sounds that filled your ears and allowed for your girlfriend to move faster against your cunt.

“S-Shit you can’t say things like that” She whimpered as her hips sputtered, you could tell the liquor was helping her get her nut faster. You moved your hand to push her away gently before pressing into her lower stomach to rub her clit, collecting the sweetness you made together. As your other hand pulled her back down to grind harshly against your clit, your honey coated fingers slipped into Sevika’s mouth to coat her tongue.

“You know you like it, be a good pup and clean up” You mewled as your fingers toyed inside her mouth. Sevika moaned loudly at the taste and sucked your digits clean as her eyes rolled back. She rut against you like she was a wolf in heat while you watched in pure intoxicated arousal. The alcohol in your own system working to get you to the finish line just as fast.

“R-Right there vika mhnnn..” You moaned and met her thrusts, your eyes falling to watch your clits coat each others in perfect sinful melody. Your hand left her mouth and reached down to rub her clit with your thumb, the swollen nub slipping out to meet your thumb with every thrust. Sevika groaned pathetically and kissed the inside of your knee, her brain fuzzy and fogged out from the intense pleasure.

“(Y/N)..I-It’s too much baby please…” Sevika whined as her thrusts got sloppier, hinting to her impending climax “Please let me cum..”

“Let it out big mama, cum for me” You commanded as the tight coil in your stomach pulled tighter and tighter. When you looked back up, Sevika was gone and lost in her own gratification. Her eyes shut tight as her hips stuttered and seized, a strained sound leaving her body as thick white sap pooled at your core. It wasn’t long before the coil snapped and your own orgasm crashed into your body like a wave. Your toes curled as your vision went hazy, the come down mixed with the liquor spins making the pleasure even more enjoyable. Your bodies were coated in a thin layer of sweat as Sevika laid on top of you, trying to catch her breath and come down as well.

“Damn..I’ve never seen you like that Sevika” You laugh tiredly, the mention of her name making her sober up almost instantly. She sat up with wide eyes, her cheeks warming up as embarrassment flushed over her sweet face.

“Yeah um…I don’t get this drunk often.” She cleared her throat and stood at the end of the bed, stretching casually like she wasn’t just begging to cum on top of you less than 5 minutes ago. You laughed and rolled your eyes playfully, standing and walking over to kiss her soft lips.

“You know damn well it doesn’t take liquor for you to get whiny and bothered like that” You giggle and pull her to the bathroom to shower for bed. Another day of paradise awaiting you both.

𓆉 ⋆.˚ 𓆝⋆.˚

This took forever to finish and I deleted SOOOOO many drafts but...I hope you enjoyyy :)

Also I went to Jamaica back in 2021 and miss it everyday and wanna write about it so...maybe this will get a pt. 2 if ya'll like it!

I love reading your comments, don't be a stranger! Thank you for reading ily ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

~Squuoosh

Taglist: @lonerslug, @mewl3tte

[teenagewannabewriter]

Perabeth.

They would have been better as close friends.

it would allow for pipbeth and perico,exploring more of those ‘our parents hate each other ‘ storylines,ie,Annabeth thinking she wouldnt get along with Piper because she’s a Aphrodite kid,or even better!Piper becoming a hunter of Artemis,that could lead to come nice character conflict with her being the child of love.

Percy and Nico having to rework their relationship and trust in each other.Their would be either no power balance or less of one if Percy/nico were dating because they’d both be big three kids,Tartarus can work out the same still,but Percy would know more since Nico talked to him about it.

plus we’d get Nico/annabeth bonding over Tartarus and becoming friends.

soloangelo has no real appeal and its text book ‘sunny x emo’.

[getitoutofmymindwrites]

Something constant. | joel miller x f!reader, 9.1k

Summary: You are Tommy’s best friend, Joel’s constant complication- the one woman he can’t touch without breaking. But when years of tension finally snap, Joel has no choice but to face what he’s been running from: the fact that you’ve always been his, whether he deserves you or not.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, ANGST (like- I'm putting them through it like my life depends on it)(it does.), SMUT, reader is 5 yrs younger than Tommy, so that leaves a 10 yrs age gap with our man, emotional and physical abuse, toxic dynamics: mentions of abusive family but nothing descriptive or graphic, mentions of abusive boyfriends and unhealthy relationships in general but nothing descriptive or graphic, substance use: mentions of gambling and intense sexual content: grinding, nipple play, fingering, cum eating, unprotected PIV, dom!Joel. Please be aware and read responsibly.

A/N: Well, well, well- what do we have here? It’s been almost a year since I last posted anything of mine. This is not some breakthrough, or something you haven’t read before. For some reason, I decided to forgo dividers and use titles instead. Where did that come from? Lord knows. The writing and rhythm feel a bit different, especially in the beginning- don’t ask me to explain, I’m not a trained professional. I also think I used dashes more than I ever have before, maybe I'm addicted, who knows. (They made sense, ok?) Anyway, I don’t know why I’m rambling; I don’t even know if you still remember me, but hey-(oh look, another dash!) I'm still here and I’ve missed you guys!

P.S.: Oh- oh and please don’t forget, as always, I hate summaries!

Dividers by @cafekitsune

They say you only get what you think you deserve in this life.

They must be gravely wrong then, because you don’t think you deserve Joel Miller. Not for one second. And yet, somehow.. here you are.

But let’s take things from the beginning.

The past.

You and Tommy met when you were young. Well, he was young. You were young..er. Which, by default, made Joel the old..er brother.

You and Tommy became fast, inseparable friends. You were both drawn to mischief and that made you almost instantly thick as thieves. He’s always been like a brother to you. You spent summers at the Millers’, crashed there during rough times.

You didn’t have a stable home life. You learned from a young age to adapt.

Actually, you learned a handful of helpful things: how to read faces, microexpressions, words unsaid and gestures unmade. When to activate your sympathetic or parasympathetic systems. When to freeze. When to hide. When to run. Especially where to run.

The destination was always the same, the Millers’ house. Tommy and by extension Joel, became your lifeline.

The one person you could never read to save your life though, was Joel Miller.

Joel, always wiser, quieter, intense. You called him “sir” jokingly. He called you “kid.” Typical.

He wasn’t warm, but he was reliable. Always picking Tommy up from trouble. Always fixing things. Always there.

You admired him before you even understood why. He never faltered. Never drifted.

As you grew up, that admiration turned into something deeper. But beyond that, all you could ever figure out was that he didn’t like you all that much. You guessed you were used to that. You’d had your whole life training for it.

The hidden love.

You never said anything. Joel treated you like a kid.

Even as you matured, he stayed distant, protective, but formal.

You kept it to yourself, how you felt about him and tried to date others. No one ever measured up. Of course they didn’t. They didn’t even give you the bare minimum.

But even when they did -rarely- your heart was singing only for Joel.

What a stupid fixation, you thought.

To crave the safe. To long for the normal. To love the constant.

But he provided. So you did.

Truth be told, you’ve never shared much with Joel. He was always orbiting your friendship with Tommy, anyway. He was the big brother. He was always around, mostly to keep an eye on Tommy, if you had to guess. So, inevitably, he ended up getting to know parts of your life, of you.

Like right now, when you wish more than anything that he never knew you at all.

You see, you’re in a bad relationship. You don’t tell Joel as much. You never would.

But Tommy knows.

And if Tommy knows, Joel does too.

Because Joel is observant. He always watches. He always has.

Like you said, to keep Tommy straight. Wasn’t his fault if you were always around. So it wasn’t that hard to figure you out. To notice things.

Like you, clinging to people who give crumbs of affection, because you grew up without real support.

Like you, staying with your boyfriend after he apologizes, crying, believing it meant change.

The sleepover.

Tommy lets you crash at Joel’s place. You don't even need to ask; it’s practically a given. He thinks it’s casual, just like always.

You feel safe there, even with Joel being standoffish. He never kicked you out, though. His door was always open when you needed it and that meant something. It had to, right?

But when you settle into the familiar room and mattress, you have a confession to make. You admit to Tommy that you forgave your boyfriend because “he cried and I thought maybe he deserved another chance.”

“Jesus..” Tommy sighs, his brows pinched in frustration. Not at you but at the lucky bastard who’s havin’ it easy.

He doesn’t know what else to say to make you see; you are enough. Enough to stand on your own. You don’t need anyone else to feel whole. Complete. Relevant. Seen.

But who is he to talk? He’s always carryin’ his own demons, makin’ his own same mistakes; always havin’ Joel anchor him to reality, like you’re havin’ him.

Tommy sits on the bed next to you, searching your eyes. “What are you not tellin’ me?”, his voice soft and caring like a knuckle brushing against a cheek.

Goddamn Miller brothers and their ability to read you like an open book.

You avoid his gaze, looking anywhere but him.

He calls your name now, sternly. Serious. Patience was never really his strong suit, but then again, you already knew that. “Done playin’ games, darlin’.”

Tommy pinches your chin, forces your eyes on his. “Spit it out.” He speaks like he’s scolding you, but his thumb brushes gently over your knuckles.

You start stammering, the words to admit your level of failure elude you, like smoke curling in the air. You pick at a loose thread on the blanket. Your knee bounces once, then twice. You suck in a breath like it’ll help you speak. It doesn’t.

“I- I-” you exhale loudly. You rehearse the sentence in your head but it comes out wrong every time. Too much. Too small. Too pathetic. You hate that it’s even real. “I think he spent all of my savings on gambling.”

Silence.

It hangs there, thick and heavy, filling the room like smoke. You don’t dare look at him. You regret saying it already. It feels too real now, like speaking it out loud makes it official.

Tommy doesn’t respond right away.

You half-expect him to curse, maybe yell. You’ve seen that version of him. Loud, angry, Miller.

But when he finally moves, it’s quiet. Gentle.

He rubs a hand down his face, exhales slowly, the kind of breath that says I don’t know how to fix this, but I want to.

Then, softer than you were ready for- “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Your eyes stay glued to the worn edge of the blanket you’re gripping. “I dunno.” Your voice is small. Pathetic. “Guess I didn’t wanna see it.”

He leans forward, elbows on knees, staring at the floor for a moment before glancing your way. “You gonna tell Joel?”

That makes your head snap up. “What? No- no. I don’t want him to know. He’ll just-”

You stop. You don’t even know what exactly you’re afraid of. Joel being disappointed? Joel being right? Joel looking at you like you’re one of those strays he has to keep out of the yard?

Tommy narrows his eyes just a bit. “He ain’t like that, you know.”

You shake your head. “You don’t know how he looks at me.”

Tommy gives a little snort. Amused. Tired. “Pretty sure you don’t know how he looks at you.”

Your breath catches. And now you have to look away.

He sees it. Of course he does. Goddamn Miller brothers.

Tommy doesn’t press. He just shifts closer on the mattress, hand resting lightly on your shoulder. No pressure. Just there.

“You’re not stayin’ with him anymore,” he says. “We’ll figure the rest out later.”

That “we” shouldn’t hit you in the chest the way it does.

But it does.

You nod once, quietly. You don’t say thank you. Not because you’re not grateful, but because you’ve learned that some kindnesses are too big for words.

Joel’s Judgment.

Sunlight’s starting to crawl into the kitchen. Joel’s already up, nursing his coffee, sleeves pushed up, working a stubborn hinge loose on the cabinet door.

Always fixing what breaks, never what’s breaking him.

He’s got that tired, focused look, the one he wears when there’s too much on his mind and nowhere to put it.

Tommy walks in after a while, hair still a mess, rubbing sleep from his eyes. You’re not around, maybe still in the spare room, maybe hiding from the weight of everything.

Joel doesn’t ask, not directly. He never does. But he eyes the hallway, then glances at Tommy.

“Everything alright with her?”, he asks almost indifferent while still working on the cabinet door.

Tommy runs a hand over his face. Hesitates. Then shrugs.

“She always ends up with assholes, doesn’t she?” Joel mutters under his breath.

Not angry. Not cold. Just.. detached. Like he’s trying to put you in a box he can label and keep at a safe distance.

Tommy’s halfway to the coffee pot when he freezes.

His voice comes out sharper than intended.

“Jesus, Joel.”

Joel looks up, brows raised. “What?”

Tommy slams the pot down harder than necessary. “She thought she could trust him. He cried, said he’d change, you know how that goes.”

Joel watches him now, more alert. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

Tommy exhales through his nose, pacing once. Shit. Then- too late to take it back- “..The bastard drained her savings. All of it. Gambling.”

Silence.

Joel blinks once. Sets the screwdriver down slow, deliberate. Like he actively accepts he’s capable of murder right at this moment.

“You serious?”

Tommy just nods, jaw tight.

Joel doesn’t say anything at first. His face hardens, not with judgment, but with something else. Something Tommy has seen too many times before. That cold, calculating kind of quiet. Like when a storm’s just out of sight but already coming.

He glances back toward the hallway.

And for the first time in a long time, Joel Miller looks like he might actually break something.

The confrontation.

“Is she really that stupid?”

Joel’s voice cuts through the air, low, gritted, sharp like broken glass.

You weren’t even trying to eavesdrop. Just happened to walk toward the kitchen, bare feet soft on old floorboards, the kind that creak at the worst moments.

But now you’re at the doorframe.

And you’ve heard it.

They both freeze when they see you.

Tommy’s mouth parts like he might say something -anything- but Joel gets there first. He takes a step forward, guilt blooming all over his face.

"Wait-", time fractures; each fraction of a second splitting into aching pieces, stretching into eternity, as he struggles to find the right words. "That’s not-"

You flinch back. Not from fear, from instinct. Like touching him would burn.

Your eyes are glassy, breath stuck somewhere between your chest and throat.

You tried so fucking hard. For years.

To believe he didn’t despise you. That it was just the way he was, guarded, quiet, rough around the edges. Maybe, just maybe, under all that brooding, he gave a damn. Not enough to love you, but enough to keep you torturing yourself. Hoping.

You clung to scraps. Glances. The open door. The silence that wasn’t quite rejection.

But now- now you have your answer.

He reaches out and you step further back, hand half-raised like a warning.

“Don’t.”

Your voice cracks.

“You’re cruel, Joel.” His name tastes foreign, like something you were never meant to say out loud. Not in this kind of sentence. Not aimed at you.

He flinches.

“You have no idea what it’s like to be alone and still try to believe people can be good. That they’ll change. That you matter enough for someone to try.”

You laugh bitterly. Short, sharp.

“I used to think that was my strength, it gave me hope, nurtured my heart.”

You shrug, mouth twisting.

“Now I just feel stupid.”

Joel opens his mouth and this time his voice is soft. A crack in the armor.

“Sweetheart-”

It halts you.

Like something forgotten and fragile just cracked open in your chest.

He’s never called you that. Never reached for softness when it came to you. You were always kid, background noise, someone tolerated.

But this- this name, heavy with something almost gentle- it lingers.

Uninvited warmth in the middle of a wound. A wrong word at the worst possible moment.

And just like that, you falter.

Your footing slips, like the floor forgot how to hold you. You hate that it gets to you. You hate that part of you still wants it to mean something.

You snap.

“No.”

You shake your head, fast, like you're trying to physically push the word away.

“No, Joel. You made what you think of me very clear.”

You take another step back, voice trembling but strong.

“You sorry you said it or just sorry I was there to hear it?”

He looks like he’s on the verge of breaking. But you don’t let him. A quiet kind of peace settles over you- cold, final. It’s all done now. Sealed. Clear. Maybe hope was never meant for you. Maybe it ruined more than it ever gave.

“I’m sorry. Sorry for having a heart. For seeing the good in people. For thinking maybe, just maybe, I could believe in something better.”

A beat. “For thinking you’d ever see me as something more than a burden.”

Then the final twist- “But hey- I guess if anyone knows what it’s like to be an asshole, it’s you.”

Silence.

You turn around.

And this time, when you walk away, you don’t look back.

The void.

The door doesn’t slam. He almost wishes it did, something loud, something final, something that could match the sting in his chest.

But no.

It’s the quiet that kills him.

He stays there, frozen. One foot half-forward like he still thinks maybe he can catch you.

Maybe call you back.

Maybe undo it.

Too late.

Tommy doesn’t speak. He’s seen this side of Joel before, the kind that hits hard and then stands in the wreckage, not knowing how to fix what’s left.

Joel drags a hand down his face, slow. Tired.

He feels like he just handed a loaded gun to someone he swore he’d protect and it went off in his own damn hands.

He sinks down onto the edge of the kitchen chair, his elbows digging his knees. Staring at nothing. Staring at the space you occupied moments ago.

“Didn’t mean it like that,” he mutters defeated. “Not like that.”

But there’s no one there to hear it.

The room stays still.

Tommy leans against the doorframe. Crosses his arms. Watches his brother fall apart without making a sound about it.

He wants to say I warned you.

Wants to say You crossed a line you can’t uncross.

But what good would it do now?

Joel doesn’t need a lecture.

He needs a time machine.

Tommy sighs, low, deep; rubs the back of his neck.

“You love her,” he says simply. Not a question. “You just don’t think you deserve her.”

Joel doesn’t look up. Doesn’t argue.

Tommy nods to himself, jaw tight.

“Then I hope to God you figure out what you do deserve, before she’s too far gone to look back.”

He pushes off the frame and walks out, boots heavy on the floorboards, leaving Joel alone with the quiet and what he’s done.

The conversation.

Tommy stepped out onto the back porch with two beers. Joel was already out there, sitting in silence, the lamp behind him casting long shadows across the wooden floorboards. He didn’t say anything when Tommy handed him one.

They sat for a while.

“She didn’t mean to hear it, y’know,” Tommy said eventually. “Was just.. bad timing.”

Joel didn’t react. Took a sip. His expression remained flat.

“Maybe it’s better she did,” he muttered, eyes fixed on his thumb as it peeled the label off the bottle- then drifting back up again, straight into nothingness.

Tommy bent forward slightly, fingers laced together. “Jesus, Joel. What the hell’s goin’ on with you?”

Joel’s eyes stayed lost in the dark. “She’s the kind of woman who believes in second chances. Believes people can be better. Damn, she forgives the unforgivable like it’s just another Tuesday.”

“Yeah,” Tommy said softly, almost in awe. “I know.”

“But me?” Joel’s fingers tightened slightly around the neck of the bottle. “I’ve run out of people to prove wrong. And if she ever looked at me the way I look at her.. God help me, I’d take it. I’d take it and I’d never let go. Which is exactly why I can’t.”

Tommy went quiet for a moment.

“You really think you’re that far gone?”

Joel gave a hard smile. “You see the man I am now. But she didn’t see who I had to be. Who I chose to be. I’ve done things, Tommy. Not the kind that sends you to jail- the kind you do when you look out for your own. I walked away from people who needed me. I picked you over them. And I’d do it again, but that don’t mean it didn’t mark me.”

“You did what you had to do,” Tommy said sharply. “For me. For us.”

“That don’t make it right.”

“Doesn’t make it wrong either.”

Joel’s voice softened, almost a whisper. “She thinks people can change. I know they don’t, not really. And I ain’t gonna be the one to prove her wrong.”

Tommy studied his brother for a long beat. “You ever think maybe she sees who you are now ‘cause that’s who you are?”

“She’s not like us, Tommy,” Joel said flatly. “She’s strong, but not cold. Got this light to her that-”, he stopped, sighed. “I ain’t got no business even standin’ near.”

“Bullshit.” Tommy said. “You love her.”

“And that’s the goddamn problem,” Joel snapped. “I need her. And if I let myself need somethin’ that good and I lose it..”, his face shifted, darkening into something grim and unyielding, “-Lord have mercy on anyone standin’ in my way.. I don’t think I’d come back from that.”

Tommy leaned back in his chair, head tilted up toward the sky.

“She’s not gonna break you, Joel. She’s already holdin’ your pieces together. You just too scared to admit it.”

Joel took another sip as silence settled over them once again. There was something fragile in his voice now.

“I have a brother, you know,” he said with a dry quip. “He trusts me with everythin’. Even her. I can’t give him a reason not to.”

Tommy laughed bitterly. “I think he’d be more pissed if you kept hurtin’ her just to protect him.”

Joel stared off into the night, beer forgotten in his hand. Another beat of quiet. His resolve was cracking slightly. Not entirely. Not enough. Not yet.

Then, barely above a whisper-

“A man like me don’t get to want things like her.”

The explotion.

It’s been weeks.

No word from Joel.

Tommy checks in from time to time, but he doesn’t say his brother’s name. Not once.

And you don’t ask.

You tell yourself you don’t care. That the silence doesn’t ache.

Then one afternoon, Tommy texts you:

"Swing by Joel’s place. Left some stuff for you in the garage. I’ll be back in 10."

You don’t think twice. You go. You assume Joel’s at work. He always is.

But when you step inside, the air is too quiet. Tommy’s truck is gone. And then you hear a key turning in the front door.

Joel walks in.

You both stop in your tracks. He blinks, like he’s not sure if you’re real. Your heartbeat drums in your ears. You mumble something about Tommy. He nods; says nothing at first. Just sets his keys down on the table.

He glances at you. There’s a hesitation, like something’s been living in his throat for too long and he’s finally decided to let it out.

"Tommy said you.. broke things off."

You nod stiffly, eyes dropping to your feet, like they could carry you away from him. Like they ever would.

He shifts his weight, almost uncomfortable. His voice is low, a little rough, when he dares-

"That guy ever lay a hand on you?"

Your jaw tightens.

Not this again. Not from him. Not when he’s the one who shattered you last.

"Not everyone’s lucky enough to have Joel Miller in their corner." you bite out before you can stop yourself.

His brows twitch and you don’t wait for him to respond. The words keep spilling now, bitter, broken, sharp.

"I don’t let people touch me or talk to me like that. Not anymore."

Your eyes flash, not with anger, with hurt.

"But you? I made an exception for you. God knows why."

He flinches. Not dramatically. Just a subtle shift in his jaw, his breath caught wrong.

Like it’s only now hitting him that being let in -truly in- came with weight. That he held something fragile in his hands and dropped it anyway.

And you?

You hate that your voice breaks on the next part.

"You were the only one I thought I didn’t have to protect myself from."

He takes a step forward. Slow. Careful. Like he’s approaching something wounded and wild.

You don’t move- not back, not forward. Just watching him, tight-lipped and trembling like you’re holding yourself together with spit and thread.

"Don’t," you say, low and hollow.

He stops. Hands hovering like he might reach for you and thinks better of it. Again.

"Kid-"

You flinch at the nickname. Just slightly, but enough. He notices. Of course he does.

That damn observant look of his. It used to make you feel seen. Now it just makes you feel exposed. Like he sees the ache he put there and doesn’t know how to address it.

He doesn’t know what to fix first.

The way he spoke to you?

The way he looked at you after?

The way he didn’t come after you when you left?

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Tries again.

"That day, I didn’t mean-"

You cut him off, voice like stone, "You never mean to. That’s the whole problem."

The silence after is raw.

He doesn’t step closer. He doesn’t step back. He just stays there, suspended in regret.

Like, he finally understands the difference between being in someone’s corner and being someone they can truly rely on.

The tension is suffocating. It coils in your lungs like smoke, thick and hot and inescapable.

Joel says nothing. Quiet again. Resigned. His eyes fix somewhere over your shoulder, or maybe nowhere at all. You can’t tell.

He won’t even look at you. You were always a ghost to him, weightless. Unseen.

A haunting he never asked for.

A slight inconvenience, someone he tolerated for Tommy's sake. Never close enough to matter. Never far enough to ignore.

And that tells you everything.

You’re not getting an explanation. Not now. Not ever.

Whatever that moment was, the truth he nearly let slip, the rawness behind his voice, it’s already retreating back into the dark.

You feel it, the distance returning, sharp and cold, like the final click of a door locking from the inside.

Of course. Of course he’d leave you standing there with nothing. Of course he’d choose silence again.

Because that’s what he does. That’s what he’s always done.

And suddenly your chest feels too tight, your throat dry, like your body’s trying to brace for impact but the crash never comes.

So you nod. Once. Slow.

You turn to leave and he doesn’t stop you.

But as you move past him, something inside you screams enough. And before you can stop yourself-

“Why do you hate me so much?” you ask, your voice cracking before you mean it to. You weren’t even going to say anything, but the way he always looks at you, jaw clenched, arms crossed, that permanent scowl — it’s been eating at you for years.

Joel’s response is a gruff, confused, “What?”

“Every time I’m around, you act like I’ve done something wrong. Like you can’t stand the sight of me. I just- what did I ever do to you, Joel?”

His face shifts. Something flickers in his eyes- not anger. Something else. But it’s gone before you can name it.

“You didn’t do nothin’.” he says quietly.

“Then why? Why are you always so angry with me?”

He won’t look at you. Something between a huff and a laugh escapes his mouth, like he’s mocking you. Silence stretches. But you keep going, your voice sharper now, almost shaking.

“Is it because I’m not your business? Because I was always just Tommy’s dumb little friend hanging around? Or is it just fun for you; pushing me away over and over until I finally take the hint?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.” he snaps, his voice cold and defensive, eyes glittering with barely-contained rage.

“Then say it!” you bite out, bitter and breathless. “Whatever it is you’ve been holding back for years; say it. Tell me what the hell I ever did to make you look at me like I’m something you need to keep your distance from.”

You’re flushed now. Heart pounding. He still won’t look at you. So you take a step forward.

“Is it because I’m too young? Because I’m soft? Because I forgive people who don’t deserve it?”

Now, finally, Joel looks at you. Maybe he thinks this is meant for him. Maybe he knows he’s one of those who don’t deserve it- forgiveness. Your forgiveness. And something inside him snaps.

“It’s because I can’t afford to look at you the way I want to.” he says low, furious.

You blink. Whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t that.

“It’s because every time you walk into a goddamn room, I feel like I can breathe for the first time in days. And that shouldn’t be your burden.”

“Joel..” you whisper, barely audible.

He goes on, more raw now.

“You think I’m angry with you? I’m angry with myself. For wantin’ something I got no right to want. For feelin’ like maybe -maybe- there’s a version of me that could be good enough for you. But there ain’t.”

He laughs once, bitter, shaking his head.

“I push you away because if I didn’t, I’d never stop reachin’ for you. And you deserve better than a man who can’t let himself want good things without breakin’ ‘em.”

Silence. His jaw tightens. His fists clench at his sides.

“I would’ve given you everything, Joel.” you say, voice trembling. “You didn’t even have to ask.”

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. Like you just said something cruel. His face twists- not in anger, but disbelief. Something almost panicked beneath the surface.

“You don’t mean that,” he says, quiet, almost pleading.

“What?” you ask, startled.

“You think you do, but you don’t. You’ve always looked at me like I’m some fixed thing. Like I’m solid. Steady. That ain’t love, sweetheart. That’s just safety.”

You blink, like he’s slapped you. And he keeps going, like he has to kill the feeling before it grows roots.

“You don’t want me. You want the idea of me. What I was to Tommy. What I never was to you.”

“If I ever let you close enough to see what’s really here,” Joel gestures vaguely- to his chest, his heart, whatever broken thing still beats inside him, “you’d realize you don’t love me. You just mistook the feelin’. And I can’t be the reason you lose that part of yourself.”

But you’re steady now. Hurt, but unwavering.

“Don’t you dare tell me what I feel.”

Joel stiffens. But you don’t stop.

“You think I saw you as safe? You? With that goddamn storm behind your eyes? With the way you look at the world like it already failed you?”

You step closer. You don’t shout; you just slice.

“I’ve spent years trying to figure out why the worst parts of you still felt like home. Why every time you pushed me away, I wanted to stay. Why I kept waiting for one -just one- moment of softness from you like it might be enough to last me a lifetime.”

You laugh, bitterly, like he did earlier.

“You think I made you into something better than you are? No, Joel. I saw all of it. Every wall. Every silence. Every time you looked right through me like it would be easier if I just disappeared.”

You swallow hard. Your voice cracks, just once.

“And I loved you anyway.”

Silence. He stares at you- stunned. Maybe horrified. Maybe something else. You’d say he almost looks scared of you; if you didn’t know any better.

You continue, quieter. “You don’t get to tell me I mistook the feeling. You just didn’t want to believe anyone could see the truth and stay.”

And then you push again, sharp, your voice shaking with rage and pain as you step forward.

“So, I ask you again, Joel, because you’ve failed to answer me, how dare you tell me what I feel?”

He exhales, tired, low. “I’m tryin’ to protect you-”

“No,” you cut him off. “You’re protecting yourself. Because it’s easier to believe I’m just confused than to admit someone could really love you for who you are. Even with all the shit you carry.”

He flinches. You see it. And it only hurts more.

“I do love you.” you tell him. “I love the man who sits in silence and makes sure everyone else eats first. The man who takes the blame even when it isn’t his. The man who looks at me like he’s drowning but won’t reach out.”

You’re toe to toe now. Your voice drops.

“You think that’s not real? You think I don’t know the difference between comfort and love after everything I’ve survived?”

Your next words come softer, almost breaking.

“You’re not some ghost I projected things onto, Joel. I see you. And I still want you.”

You’re standing so close you can feel the heat of him, the weight of his breath on your face and for a second, you think maybe- maybe this is the moment he’ll finally stop holding back. You reach out, slow, your fingertips brushing the side of his jaw, tentative, trembling with everything you can’t say.

“Joel..” you whisper.

But the second your hand touches him, he flinches- just slightly. Like a breath he wasn’t ready for. Like instinct. But it’s enough. You freeze, your hand falling, your face crumbling. The air goes out of you all at once.

“Right. I- got it,” you say, pulling back, your voice thin and wrecked.

You turn quickly. You don’t want him to see your face, the way it crumples, the way your shoulders shake.

He doesn’t move at first- he’s frozen, like the breath has been punched out of him. But then-

“Wait. Wait- no. No, don’t- don’t do that,” Joel blurts out, panicked.

You keep walking. He follows.

“Don’t you dare think that was about you,” he says, more urgent now.

You stop at the door but don’t turn around. His voice is shaking. You’ve never heard him like this.

“You think I flinched ‘cause I didn’t want you to touch me?”

Your fists clench at your sides. Your heart pounds on your chest; you’re sure he can hear it.

“I don’t know what to think anymore,” you admit quietly, trying to hide your broken voice.

Joel crosses the distance between you before you can move again. His hand catches your wrist- gentle but firm, turning you to look at him. His voice is low, rough, but soft in a way you’ve never heard before.

“I flinched because it felt like everything I’ve been tryin’ not to feel for years just broke wide open.”

You finally look at him. His eyes are dark, wet, desperate.

“Because the second you touched me, I wanted to fall into it. Into you. And I’ve spent so long convincing myself I don’t get to have that.”

His hand slides to your cheek- slowly, like he’s asking for permission with every inch.

This time, he touches you. His thumb brushes your jaw, reverent. Like he’s memorizing the shape of you in case he loses the right to ever do this again.

“You scare the hell outta me,” Joel breathes, “because you look at me like I’m someone worth lettin’ in. And I ain’t. I know I ain’t. But-”, he leans in, his forehead resting against yours, his voice shaking, “-just this once. Let me pretend I am.”

You don’t move. You don’t speak. You just breathe -ragged, shallow- afraid that if you say anything, the spell will break and he’ll pull away again.

But part of you still doesn’t trust it.

Not fully. Not yet.

“Joel..” your voice comes soft, almost broken. “Please don’t do this if you’re gonna disappear tomorrow.”

He doesn’t answer, and you can see the war raging inside him; you can almost taste it. The doubt. And that silence? It kills you.

So you turn. Ready to leave, to protect what’s left of you.

But he moves, fast.

He doesn’t grab you, just steps into your path, like it’s instinct. For a moment, he considers pressing his palm to the door to stop you. But after everything you’ve been through, he knows better. Even now, even here, he remembers.

“Don’t go,” Joel says, low and aching. One hand half-raised like he’s scared of touching you, scared of what it’ll mean if you let him.

“Why?” you ask, sharp, trembling. “So you can push me away all over again tomorrow?”

He flinches, but he doesn’t look away. He looks at you like he’s falling apart, eyes dark and wide, as if just saying this next part might break him completely.

And then-

“Because if you walk out that door thinkin’ I don’t love you, I won’t survive it.”

The realization.

Your breath catches.

His words settle like thunder under your skin. You look at him -really look- and for the first time, there’s no mask. No guarded distance. Just raw, shattered truth.

He takes a slow step closer, like he’s giving you time to run.

"You still wanna walk away?" Joel’s voice is hoarse.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Joel’s thumb brushes your cheek, his hand warm and steady now, no longer holding back. His forehead rests against yours, and when he speaks, it’s like a promise that’s already been broken.

"Tell me to stop. If you do, I swear I will."

But you don’t. You can’t. Not when he’s looking at you like this. Like you’re something he needs to survive.

"Don’t," you breathe.

That’s all it takes. The dam breaks. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years and then his mouth is on yours, hungry, devastated, like he’s sorry and aching and starved all at once.

His lips are rough but his hands are gentle, like he’s trying to memorize the feel of you. The kiss starts slow, reverent and builds, deepens. His hands cradle your face, your waist, pulling you closer like he can’t get enough. Your fingers knot in his shirt, dragging him down, pressing into him.

You gasp into his mouth, and he groans like it’s a sound he didn’t mean to let out. He presses you back against the wall, not rough, not aggressive, but desperate.

"Been wantin’ this for so long.." he murmurs into your mouth.

Your hips shift and he feels it- the press of you against him. His hands fall to your waist, dragging you tighter against him, grinding into you like he needs the friction, needs proof this is real.

You arch into him, needy, breathless. He presses into you, the thick line of his thigh between yours, the heat of his body unbearable. Every little grind is slow, controlled, but filled with hunger.

"You don’t even know what you’re doin’ to me…" Joel’s voice is hoarse, dark and full of disbelief.

You whimper at the sound of it. He rests his forehead against your neck, breathing hard, hips rolling into yours.

"Then show me," you whisper, soft and ruined.

He kisses you again, deeper this time; his tongue slipping past your lips, tangling with yours in a slow, deliberate rhythm. You think you’d float away, lost in a dream, if the coarse scruff of his beard wasn’t there, grounding you, prickling the skin around your lips.

His hand slides under your shirt, just skin and warmth and a shiver down your spine. But then he pulls back, just a little, breathing hard.

"If we keep goin’, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop."

"Then don’t."

Your lips part from his, breaths mingling in the heavy air. Joel’s hands don’t rush; they trace the lines of your body through your clothes, deliberate and sure, like he’s committing every inch of you to memory.

His fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, ghosting over your ribs, fingertips grazing your skin lightly before returning to the fabric. One hand cups your waist, pulling you flush against his hard thigh- the heat there like a magnet.

You shift your hips slowly, grinding against him, feeling the solid muscle beneath the fabric, the tension building with every tiny movement.

"So needy already.. what happens when I really touch you?" His voice is low and rough.

You whimper, pressing closer, needing more contact.

"Feels good, baby? Keep grindin’ just like that."

His hands slide to the front of your shirt, palms cradling your soft breasts, thumbs sweeping lightly over your nipples through the thin fabric. He feels them stiffen instantly beneath his palms, the reaction so visceral it sends a jolt through him, something raw, almost primal, uncoiling in his chest. His fingers pinch and roll them with just enough pressure to make your back arch, to draw a broken gasp from your lips.

He watches you writhe, mesmerized by the way you react to every twist of his fingers, the way you shiver and press into his hands like you need more- need him.

Your hands find his wrists, holding him close, desperate for more.

His thumbs drag slowly again over the sensitive peaks, his mouth watering at the thought of that taut skin against his tongue and he swears under his breath, voice thick.

"Joel- please.." you breathe.

He chuckles darkly, his lips brushing against your jaw. His brain is deep in a haze of desire and need; he's not in control anymore. Maybe he never was- maybe he was always waiting for you to undo him.

His thigh tightens beneath you, holding you steady as you grind harder, matching his rhythm without words. His fingers tease, flick, and pinch lightly, coaxing every sigh and tremble from you.

"You feel that? That’s mine. You're gonna come for me, right here, just like this. Show me you’re mine."

You arch into him, breath hitching, heart pounding as the friction and his teasing combine into a storm inside you. His hands roam with growing confidence, undeterred by your soft moans and shudders. You can feel the heat pooling low in your belly, spreading fast and he’s right there- steady and sure beneath you, grounding you even as your senses spiral.

The world narrows to the feel of him, the sound of your ragged breaths and the tight coil of pleasure winding up inside you.

Your breaths come faster, your chest rising and falling as Joel’s fingers trace tight circles over your nipples, every pass sending sparks of heat through you, even though he still hasn’t touched you directly. Your hips grind harder, trembling as the tension coils tighter and tighter.

You cry out softly against his pouty lips, your body shuddering against his thigh. The warmth pools low and spreads, waves crashing through you and he swallows every little whimper and moan like a man parched. Your fingers clutch his shirt, digging in as the pleasure ripples and crashes, leaving you breathless and undone.

"God.." Joel whispers, voice almost breaking.

He watches you fall apart- skin flushed, eyes half-lidded, lips parted and something inside him twists.

The love scene.

His hands freeze for a moment, not wanting to disturb you but desperate to hold onto you. He leans closer, forehead resting against yours, breath warm and steady. Joel watches -intense, silent- his gaze fixed on how your body unravels under his touch, how every shiver and sigh seems to pull at something deep inside him.

His hand stills, hovering just above your skin, afraid to break the fragile spell but desperate to hold onto this moment. His jaw tightens, eyes dark with a storm of emotions he won’t speak aloud- need, protectiveness, and something rawer he’s terrified to admit.

He wants to say something, anything, to stop the rush of feelings, to keep things safe and simple. But the words catch in his throat.

Instead, he simply presses his forehead against yours, breath warm and uneven, trying to steady himself. His body tenses beneath you, a silent war raging inside him; he’s drawn to you like never before, but his mind is screaming that this could burn everything to ashes.

Your breath stays uneven, chest pressed to his, foreheads touching like you’re both holding on to something that would vanish the moment you let go.

"Joel, look at me."

He hesitates. You can feel it- the tremble in his hands, the slight shift in his stance, like his whole body’s braced for you to disappear.

"I’m lookin’."

"I’m still here."

And you are -flushed, shaking, pupils blown wide- but still tethered to him, anchored in this fragile space between fear and want. You watch the fight flicker in his eyes. The way his jaw clenches. The way his hands, warm and steady a moment ago, are now flexing like he’s trying not to grab hold too tight.

"You shouldn’t be."

"Don’t."

He closes his eyes, just for a second. Like that word, like your voice, cuts deeper than it should.

"I don’t know how to do this without hurtin’ you."

"I’m already hurt, Joel. But not by what we just did. By you thinking I can’t decide for myself what I want."

That hits him. You see it. The flinch. The ache. The guilt sinking its claws in.

But you don’t stop. You can’t.

"You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to be safe. I just need you to be real."

He looks at you like he’s drowning again. Like you’re offering him something he’s too afraid to take. But his hand rises anyway -slow, hesitant- and brushes your cheek again, thumb catching a tear you didn’t know had slipped down.

"I don’t wanna lose this. Lose you. But I don’t know if I can be the kind of man you hold onto."

"Then let me decide that."

You take his hand. Place it against your chest. Let him feel the way your heart hammers beneath your ribs.

"I already am. Can't you feel it?"

One breath. Then another. Joel exhales slowly, like something inside him just gave up the fight. And what’s left is raw and exposed and his.

He kisses you again, slower this time. Less desperation, more reverence. Like a man memorizing his last breath. And this time, he doesn't pull away.

The kiss deepens again, but there’s no trembling now. No flinching. Just heat. Just his hands moving with purpose, sliding beneath your clothes, skin on skin, rough palms and calloused fingers learning you like he’s starved for the taste.

You gasp as he lifts your shirt, tugging it over your head and tossing it aside. His eyes drag down your body like a slow burn, reverent, almost disbelieving.

"Jesus Christ.."

He cups your breasts, thumbs brushing around your nipples, already raw and swollen from his earlier attention, watching the way your back arches into him like instinct. His mouth follows next, hot and open against your tender skin, teeth grazing your stiffened peaks with aching slowness.

Your cunt is pulsing painfully in anticipation, your panties soaked and surely ruining the thick denim of his jeans. All you seem to be able to do is beg for him one more time.

"Joel- please.. I can't-"

He growls -actually growls- the sound scraping low from his chest, like he’s been waiting years to hear that. His hands roam lower, finding the button of your shorts, undoing them slowly, deliberately, giving you just enough time to stop him, but you won’t. You can’t.

Your hands are just as greedy, tugging at his shirt, desperate to feel him, to know him the way he’s never let anyone close enough to know. When you finally get it off him, it’s almost too much. All of him -broad and solid and burning under your palms.

"Tell me if you want me to stop."

"I want you to fuck me, Joel."

A pause. A beat. Like the words steal the air from his lungs.

Then he moves.

Your back hits the wall again -gently, but firm- and his body follows, pressing against yours, one hand slipping into your panties, fingers sliding through slick heat with an almost broken sound.

"You’re so fuckin’ wet.." he breathes against that sensitive spot right beneath your ear and you can feel his hard cock grinding for relief against your hip.

You cry out as two thick fingers slide into you, curling just right, slow and deep. Your soft walls flutter around his digits, welcoming the intrusion. His other hand grabs your thigh, hitching it up around his waist. He’s grinding into you now, rutting slow, the thick line of his cock still trapped behind denim- but you can feel it. Every inch of it, hard and pulsing through his jeans.

The slick, obscene squelch of his fingers pumping in and out of your soaked cunt only makes you ache more, arousal spilling down his wrist. You’re so fucking close to snapping, to breaking apart if he doesn’t fuck you right now.

“God, Joel- need you inside me-”

"I know, baby. I know. I got you."

He pulls his hand back, wet with you and brings it to his mouth, sucking his fingers clean with a groan that makes your knees buckle. Then he tugs your shorts down, sliding them off you and undoes his jeans, shoving them low enough to free himself and—

Fuck.

He’s thick. Long. Heavy in his hand as he strokes himself once, twice, eyes fixed on you like you’re the only thing keeping him standing.

Heat spreads across your skin and you’re acutely aware of how vulnerable you are and how completely ready your body is for him. You lean forward, gently brushing his hand away and replacing it with your own. He hisses at the contact. The head of his shaft pulses against your palm, and your fingers curl around him, unable to stop yourself from feeling how rock-hard he is.

"I’ll go slow. Just.. hold onto me.", his voice is low and thick with need. Your heart lurches at the raw sincerity in his tone and you press your body closer, arms instinctively wrapping tightly around his neck.

He lifts you effortlessly, one leg hooking around his hip and pulling you flush against him. With one impatient tug, his fingers sweep your panties to the side, and cool air skims over your heated skin.

The slick tip of him nudges at your entrance, and a sharp gasp escapes you as you feel him teasing you through your wetness.

He sinks into you with one slow, steady thrust and you arch back, teeth gritting to keep the first cry from escaping. A fierce burn flares deep inside as the first inch slides in, and you instinctively dig your nails into his shoulders.

He groans, bending to press his lips against your ear, and exhales your name as he pauses. Inch by inch, he pushes deeper, every fraction of an inch driving wild pleasure through you. Warmth and fullness bloom between your bodies and a long, trembling sigh escapes as your muscles flutter around him, completely filled, leaving you both panting and still.

"That’s it. That’s it, sweetheart, takin’ me so good.."

He stays there, buried deep inside you, forehead resting on your shoulder, both of you trembling, both of you lost.

Then he starts to move.

Slow. Deep. Unrelenting.

The song of your bodies meeting- skin against skin, the slick, filthy rhythm of it- fills the room. Your moans spill into his mouth as he kisses you again, tongue tangled with yours, every thrust more desperate, more real than anything either of you has ever known.

"Wanted this.. fuck, wanted you for so long-" he mumbles and you don't know if he's talking to you or to himself.

"Don’t stop. Please- don’t stop-"

He doesn’t. He can’t.

He’s fucking you like he means it, like this is the first and last time he’ll ever get to love someone like this- with everything in him, without apology, without restraint. His hips snap into you with purpose, rhythm deep and relentless, like he’s trying to bury himself in you, like he’s trying to leave part of himself behind.

You can feel the tremble in his arms where they hold you steady, the sweat slicking between your bodies, the way his breath stutters every time you clench around him.

Your name spills from his lips like prayer- wrecked, reverent, desperate. He dips his head into the crook of your neck, mouth open against your skin, teeth dragging over your pulse point like he needs to anchor himself before he loses it completely.

"You feel so fuckin’ good," he groans, voice raw. "Shit- don’t know how I ever lived without this."

Your nails dig into his back, trying to pull him closer, trying to keep him right there- inside you, on you, with you. You meet every thrust with your own, chasing that edge together, breathing each other in like oxygen.

Your drooling cunt chokes his dick with every pulse, soaking him all the way down to the base, slick spilling down his balls and ruining his jeans. The sounds of skin slapping skin make you both feral with lust. Your breasts bounce with every hard thrust, your nipples dragging against the coarse hairs on his toned chest, slick and flushed from the effort.

His hand snakes from the small of your back to the base of your neck, wrapping firm- grounding, claiming. You feel your walls flutter instantly under his grip.

“Not yet,” he breathes- simple, sharp, possessive- against your pleasure-parted lips. Like he knows your body better than you do. Like he knows you'll obey.

“Not till I say. You hear me?” His breath is hot against your lips. “You come when I take it from you.”

Everything in you screams to hold on, to never let go of this feeling- this heat, this fucking need. It’s too much and still not enough. Your vision swims with unshed tears, pleasure cresting into pain, into surrender.

His other hand grabs your thigh, spreads you wider and he drives in deeper, his cock hitting so deep it knocks the breath from your lungs.

“I need to hear it.” he snarls, forehead pressing to yours, eyes wild. “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

Your jaw falls open on a gasp, but no sound comes. You can’t. You can barely breathe. He fucks into you harder, his grip tightening.

“Say it, baby. Say it or I stop. Say who this pussy belongs to.”

Your eyes fill with tears- overstimulated, overwhelmed but your voice still breaks through.

“You- Joel, fuck- you- I’m yours- please- don’t stop-”

He groans, deep and guttural, like that was all he needed to unravel.

“That’s right. You’ve always been. Even when I couldn’t have you. Even when I told myself I shouldn’t touch you.”

He drags his mouth over your jaw, your neck, breathing you in like a man starved.

“I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else. I want you so fucked out and full’a me, no one else ever stands a fuckin’ chance.”

It’s too much- the pressure, the stretch, the heat, him. You try to hold back, to obey, but your walls flutter dangerously around him and he feels it.

“Now.” he growls, voice tearing through the air like a command from God. “Come for me.”

And when you finally fall apart around him- walls pulsing, thighs trembling, stars bursting behind your eyes- you gasp his name like it’s the only word you know, clinging to him like you’ll never let go.

“Mine. Fuckin’ mine.” he growls before he follows you with a broken moan, hips stuttering, his whole body seizing as he spills into you, holding you so tight it’s almost bruising. His face is buried in your neck, breath ragged, heartbeat thundering against your chest like it’s trying to match yours.

Like maybe, for a moment, they’re the same.

The aftermath.

He doesn’t move for a long time. Still buried inside you, still trembling- not from release, but from everything after.

His arms are locked around you, your chests pressed together, heartbeats still thundering in unison. You feel the sweat cooling on his back, his breath uneven against your neck. But it’s not the aftermath of sex that makes him shake.

It’s you.

The fact that he finally has you and the sick, gut-deep fear that he might still lose you.

His hand slides up your spine slowly, until it cups the back of your head. He kisses your hair. Your temple. The curve of your jaw.

“You okay?”

His voice is hoarse- too soft for a man like him and yet it holds the weight of a warning. Like he’s asking if you regret it. If he should start bracing for impact.

You nod, whispering his name into his chest.

His jaw tightens, and you feel it- the wildness under the surface, the animal in him that’s never known gentleness without loss. He kisses you- slow at first, then harder, like he needs to claim the truth on your lips.

“You’re mine now,” he mutters, almost to himself. His hand slides down to your thigh, gripping it, pressing you closer, even though you’re already one body.

“You got no idea what that means, do you?” he murmurs against your mouth. “No fuckin’ clue what I’d do for you.”

You look at him -really look- and suddenly you do.

Because this isn’t about sex. It’s about Joel and how, for once in his life, he wants something enough to stay. To fight. To keep.

He brushes his nose against yours. A soft, strange thing from such a hard man.

“You’re not just mine,” he says, barely audible. “I’m yours too, if you still want me.”

He knows he’s done for. He can’t go back- not after this.

The choice is yours now.

It always was. It always will be.

You lift your head, eyes glassy, lips trembling.

“I always did.”

“Then I got you. I swear to God, I got you.”

And for the first time, you believe it.

[clairewritesfanfics]

How would the marks all interact with each other? And how would those interactions impact their relationship with reader and trickle down to each other? Like prisoner Mark for example. I can see the others making fun of him for his appearance and talk about how it is a wonder anyone could be interested in him.

Only for reader to come in saying that they loved him the way he is regardless of how he had changed and the scars are a symbol that he survived what would kill or drive others insane. And then proceed to ask the marks if something similar had happened to reader would the marks throw reader away? Would the marks think that the reader's appearance would make reader unlovable?

And with how obsessed they are with reader of course they would still love them. And the marks say so. So readers continues by saying if they could still love and be attracted to reader what makes them think that reader would feel any less for any of them going through something like that?

The result would be, while most of the other marks don't appologize, they never make fun of prison marks appearance again.

Starting with those who have a civilized relationship, we have Shiesty and Vil Mark. They're the babies of the bunch for different reasons; Shiesty is just childish in general and Vil, while mature in many ways, is naive when it comes to a lot of Earthly things, like relationships and art. Shiesty (for totally non-selfish reasons) pushes Vil to try out painting, illustrating and making figurines.

Prisoner and Maskless are the designated moms because they're responsible, and in the case of Maskless, a "major nag" according to Mohawk and Shiesty. If the others had to choose, they prefer Prisoner because he is the usual chef in the house.

Mohawk is a chill guy. In high school terms, he is that cool kid who doesn't have a set friend group but blends in well with every clique. When he's not reading or strumming his bass in his own room, he's playing video games with Shiesty and Vil or sparring with No Goggles and Omni or stealing food from Head Cap and Prisoner.

Head Cap is also a cook and he is exceptionally good in making sweets. (He and Prisoner have a friendly rivalry when it comes to feeding you.) He's also a more shameless flirt than even Mohawk so the others hate him for how he hits on you with every cheap line he can think of.

Target is the middle child who thinks and acts like he's the youngest. He's the lightning rod, the punching bag and the "we love to hate him" guy of the crew. He despises working with the others and unless you personally drag him by the ear to get him to do his chores, he won't do his assigned tasks, usually depending on the more industrious Marks to do it.

If Targets dislikes everyone else and can't get along with them, then Sinister hates everybody else and doesn't want to get along with them. He keeps to himself. Well, he tries. He has a bit of a temper and tends to get into fights with Mohawk, Head Cap, Target and No Goggles.

No Goggles is No Goggles. When you're not around, he is either sulking in a corner, waiting for you to come home, or he's egging the others to hit him.

Omni-Mark is another nag. He tries to act high and mighty, like he's better than the others, and he is better at strategy and hand-to-hand combat compared to a lot of them. In reality, he can be just as immature, even regressing to boyhood when participating in petty contests with the others.

Flaxan and Full Mask both keep to themselves as much as possible, they already Full Mask is the stalker so the others at least know what to be wary about him, but Flaxan? Dude's a question mark to them.

[freyafrida]

rilla of ingleside book club, chapter two

okay I'm already kind of over screencapping the text except for the chapter titles lmao. moving on!

"Her hair was ripely, ruddily brown"

Honestly funny that I'm not sure any of the popular editions of this book have managed to get this right. Rilla's a much brighter redhead on the Bantam cover, and even the unabridged, researched and lovingly restored Viking Press version looks like this:

I have...no real opinions about Miss Oliver; I think her ~visions~ tend to be a little too dramatic (especially once she starts predicting the outcome of the war with them, like come on), although the way she teases Susan and the Blythes is occasionally funny. I'd rather her role be replaced with an actual peer of Rilla's (lots of girls are mentioned as Rilla's friends in passing, but we don't see an actual friendship between them!), but I don't feel that strongly about it. (Actually, having read the rest of the chapter, I had the sobering realization that Miss Oliver is probably the character I'm most like, in that I am pessimistic over things going too well and a little superstitious and also Of An Age and unmarried. Welp. This has been an educational read.)

“Why couldn’t they have called her by her first name, Bertha, which was beautiful and dignified, instead of that silly “Rilla”? ”

This is so funny to me because I don't think there's a single girl in the 21st century who would rather be called "Bertha" than "Rilla." rilla/carl agenda time: you ever think about how they both go by shortened versions of their middle names and nobody ever uses their first names?

I do wish we got a little more of Marilla (Cuthbert) besides Rilla just casually mentioning that she died and Rilla hated her name :(

I def. remember thinking Rilla and Walter's relationship was eye-rollingly saccharine as a kid -- as the elder of two siblings I was like, "Start bullying her or get out of the older sibling club Walter", but thinking about it more -- while my brother and I fought constantly as kids, by the time I was Walter's age and my brother was Rilla's, we actually did get along really well! So, yeah, baby freyafrida was wrong there, lol -- I actually really love Walter as a big brother, reading this now. He's clearly so sweet and patient with Rilla's need for attention from her older siblings ❤️ (Also, while I have never shown my diary to anyone, I do wince in sympathy with Rilla showing hers to Walter, because I def. had that urge as a teenager -- the idea that showing someone you like/admire all your secrets will make them understand the Real You and open up in turn.)

The dynamic between Rilla and the rest of her siblings also intrigues me -- she seems...apart from them, in a way, almost like Shirley? I mean, part of it is probably that there are just no scenes of her spending time with them, and that she was too young to be part of their shenanigans in Rainbow Valley, but it does lend some...legitimacy, I guess, to her being upset that they're all hanging out without her -- while it's understandable that Jem is too old to really want to hang with her, the gap between her and Nan/Di isn't much bigger than the gap between them and Jem iirc. (Just speculating, but I imagine it'd be hard to be the only other sister to a pair of twins.) (That said, every pair of siblings I knew who were only 1-3 years apart in age got along swimmingly -- I really envied them when I didn't get along with my brother -- so Rilla and Shirley should've been besties!!)

Speaking of, love the mention that Shirley teases Rilla by calling her "Spider" 🥹 He's so nonexistent that it's easy to speculate he's not close with his family, so I love that he does have a teasing relationship with her.

“Wordsworth never wrote anything like Walter’s poems—nor Tennyson, either.” “I wouldn’t say just that. Both of them wrote a great deal of trash,” said Miss Oliver dryly.”

LMAOOO. I will say I did not particularly enjoy any of the poems attributed to Walter in The Blythes Are Quoted, apart from "The Aftermath" -- maybe it's a personal taste thing, although I do think part of it is that they're very much in LMM's voice, so they come off weirdly twee if you're trying to imagine that a college-age dude wrote them.

Ah, and of course there's Walter writing poems to Faith. Now, the way I jumped when I saw in Readying Rilla that the draft originally explicitly said Walter was in love with Faith! From what's actually published, you could read him writing sonnets to her as a poetic or aesthetic interest (although I do think he had a legit crush on her, see below), so it's v. interesting to see that the original intent was that he was into her, romantically. Also interesting suggestion that it might've caused conflict with Jem and Walter, although of course it didn't -- mentioned before, but it's funny that this whole Jem/Faith/Walter situation gets set up in Rainbow Valley and mentioned at the start of Rilla, and then it goes absolutely nowhere. There's never any drama between Jem or Walter because of it and it never comes up again.

Speaking of...is it too early for Walter Sexuality Discourse? LOL. Tbh I don't have much to say there; my boring Both Sides take is that I see the vision in reading Walter as gay and I don't think it's a reach -- on the other hand, I also think there's evidence that his thing with Una is meant to be a doomed romance where Walter was capable of reciprocating, and I roll with that reading because I love Una too much to think that Walter wouldn't love her back. Anyway, I bring it up because I do read Walter as being legitimately attracted to and interested in Faith. There's not much of it in Rilla, but in RV I do think he has a clear crush on her. ("Walter did not want to ride a pig through Glen St. Mary, but whatever Faith Meredith dared him to do must be done.") It jives a lot with his worship of beauty for beauty's sake and his Anne-like tendency to get swept away by ideals and surface-level perceptions (e.g. fearing the pain of getting his tooth pulled in RV even though having the chronic toothache is worse).

(Once again an interesting choice -- Faith briefly thinks Jem is handsome at the start of RV, and they get a brief scene together at the end of that book, then are nearly engaged in Rilla. And yet, much of RV is actually devoted to Faith and Walter's friendship -- although I think it's kinda obvious straight off that they wouldn't work as a couple, see Faith telling Walter to just suck it up re: his toothache and get it pulled. She'd get sick of his poetry and dramatics so fast, lmao.)

“I don’t half like that,” said Miss Oliver, with a sigh. “It’s ominous—somehow. A perfect thing is a gift of the gods—a sort of compensation for what is coming afterwards. I’ve seen that so often that I don’t care to hear people say they’ve had a perfect time. June has been delightful, though.” “Don’t wish it. Dramatic things always have a bitterness for some one. What a nice summer all you gay creatures will have! And me moping at Lowbridge!”

Miss Oliver, you don't have to respond to everything Rilla says with how moody and emo you are, lmao.

“I heard some one say once that the years from fifteen to nineteen are the best years in a girl’s life.”

I love how weirdly specific that is to encompass the years of the coming war. Like, haha, get it??

“Father says I toil not neither do I spin.”

This is interestingly exactly what Phil Gordon says about herself in Anne of the Island!

“And then,” continued Anne, “there will be a good deal of work to be done. Stella’s aunt can’t do it all. We all expect to have our chores to do. Now, you—” “Toil not, neither do I spin,” finished Philippa.

Although I have to wonder...if Rilla's not doing chores and not studying, what exactly is she planning to do every day for the next four years? Genuinely I'm not super up on what she would've been able to fill her days with (social calls all the time?), I'd be interested in any insight there.

Anyway, this is basically another chapter that sets up the idyll of Ingleside life before war invades it, this time setting Rilla's character up for us. I always liked Rilla -- she was a fave upon first read and I still like her now! Idk, I've always liked silly, frivolous female characters -- I think it's because growing up, I felt like such characters in children's/YA books were often portrayed disproportionately negatively -- I never felt like their behavior was offensive enough to warrant them having to be humbled, you know? (don't ask for examples because I can't think of any off the top of my head lmao, I'm just recalling Vibes from when I was young that shaped my opinion in this direction!) I think the fact that the narration has a sense of humor about her ("...sighed Rilla, a little importantly”) also makes her frivolity more palatable and even relatable -- who doesn't love a good self-important sigh every now and again, you know?

Readying Rilla stuff:

Rilla originally just refers to Walter having "the flu" (or, well "the fl", LMM apparently cut that idea off before it even finished lmao) instead of typhoid; interesting to think if he was meant to have nearly died from the flu, or if his illness was initially much less serious!

Walter is initially referred to as being 19 instead of twenty. Not sure if he was intentionally aged up or this is another example of "Shirley is eighteen for two years"-esque math.

Dog Monday's name was originally some variation of "Jink/Jack/Jacks" and then Rags.

[cloudbends]

So. skip and loafer chapter 72 thoughts. lives were changed.

it's something i say endlessly, but what truly works so beautifully about shima and mitsumi's dynamic is that, first and foremost, its constituted on both of their genuine admiration and appreciation of each other as people, and as forces in each others' lives that make them strive to better themselves and become worthy of the other. i think their last interaction in this chapter encapsulates this perfectly on both ends.

shima, since the beginning of this manga, prominently never initiates physical touch. he simply doesn't do it with anyone other than mitsumi, and then when he very rarely does, it's in incredibly significant moments. given both of his social status that he sorely hates, and our newfound knowledge of his relationship with his mother, characterized by trauma of abuse, it makes sense - his wariness of physical touch crystallizes his wariness of showing vulnerability and exposing his true self to others. the first to come to mind is in chapter 11, when he grabs mitsumi's hand - it's a similarly sudden gesture that symbolizes shima's rare vocalisation of his feelings for her:

Considering these two moments are 60 chapters apart, it's incredible to see just how much both of them have grown. how shima's beautiful character arc culminates in fulfilling himself and letting his emotions out after bottling them for the vast majority of his life, and how coming to terms with his past and re-finding his passion allows him to come to terms with his feelings and act on them - because he finally feels like a whole enough person, worthy of the person he admires and loves. Shima had to have gone through his arc - open himself up on stage and gain some sort of closure from his mother, allowing to "be a kid again" as he ought to be instead of forcing himself to adopt the facade of maturity, in order to, for once, he acts on a whim - to show his genuine appreciation for mitsumi which he's only been able to internally ruminate over.

I think the significance of this gesture for mitsumi cannot be understated either. It's been established many times over that just as shima struggles with wanting to catch up to mitsumi, mitsumi has had similar feelings of inadequacy in comparison (see: "i always knew it was too much for me"), and it's been apparent that she's been somewhat walking on eggshells ever since their breakup. while of course mitsumi has self esteem and it's one of her great qualities, she is also significantly characterized by insecurities - thinking she wants to be important to shima one day, thinking, after the breakup, "of course this amazing person was never within reach for someone like me". which might make one insane given how absolutely important she is to shima. this is why she purposely chooses to shy away form approaching him at first, regardless of how mesmerised she's been by his performance - he's surrounded by people which, she assumes, are more important than her - and so she settles for staying in the back, but wishes to tell him how genuinely great he was. so in this sense, mitsumi is posited in a similar position to the one shima has been - they're both constantly struggling to become worthy of the person they admire. shima, having been so emotionally paralysed to the point he couldn't convey his feelings to mitsumi properly, probably fed into her subconscious feelings of his being out of her reach.

That's why that moment is so incredibly cathartic for both of their character arcs. shima, having finally come to terms with both his feelings and his past, is finally taking his turn to externalise his feelings like mitsumi did before, while mitsumi finally gains the appreciation and recognition she's been subconsciously missing. finally, they (hopefully) realize their outmost importance to one another - shima caught up to mitsumi not just in having fulfilled himself or (at least in his own eyes, as we all know he always was) being worthy of mitsumi, but also in voicing his feelings for her. and i'm so proud of him !!! the writing being so careful and nuanced around it just, yet again, shows the masterful understanding of human relationships in skip and loafer. i love these two so much

[starlightseraph]

time for my second doctor who series/season review that no one asked for!

1: pretty good. instantly loved belinda and her dynamic with the doctor, and i continued to be invested in mrs flood. i loved the goofy looking robots and spaceships. the real hero of the episode was the “polish, polish” robot. 8/10

2: very good. lux was silly and a great character. the concept was cool and i thoroughly enjoyed it. 8/10

3: excellent. i never thought they’d do a sequel to midnight, and i was a little apprehensive at the big reveal because i didn’t want the episode to derail and turn out badly. but it didn’t. i just kept getting better. so fucking awesome. belinda was still going pretty strong here too. 10/10

4: nice. i’m glad we got more of ruby, and conrad’s hatefulness was very well done. the episode was obviously only a shallow dive into the podcaster bro/manosphere/right populist pipeline, but i didn’t expect more. i wish they’d let ruby be angrier, but i’m glad they let kate be properly and rightfully vengeful. 7/10

5: such a doctor who episode. the gods of stories, a giant space spider, the doctor connecting with humans. i loved it. it just epitomised the vibe of doctor who on the whole. i have a tiny very semantic quibble with pacing, but it’s hardly relevant. 9/10

6: nope. fuck this one so much. it really, really could’ve been a great episode. it had potential. it just crashed and burned so hard by trying to stand on flimsy principles and totally a undeveloped analysis. this is where they really lost me on belinda. she’d been less of a foil for the doctor for a bit, but i just assumed it was because she was getting to know him and was starting to trust him more, maybe out of necessity. but they just completely trashed her central character here, it was sad. dugga doo was the only thing that came out well. thank you murray gold for this episode’s only redeeming moment. thanks rtd and juno dawson for absolutely nothing. 1/10

7: this one had a lot of really good elements, and it made me hopeful for the finale. i think the pacing was off, but the basic framework and plot points were good. i was excited to see rogue, appalled to see conrad, and very baffled by the whole bone-stuff thing. the rani seemed to be building up well, but i was confused as to why their ultimate goal was bringing back omega. like, ok? sure? but i feel like if you’ve spent two series creating suspense around the rani’s comeback, there were better things to base her plot on. i still liked both the ranis and thought their plan and susan were going to be intertwined in some way. 6/10

8: absolutely bonkers. holy shit. so much insane stuff happened?? firstly, why did they sideline belinda? it was so annoying. and her ending… don’t get me wrong, one of my biggest dreams is to be a mother and i think having kids or being family-oriented is a completely valid path. but she literally did not show a single crumb of interest in anything domestic throughout the season. she was clearly focused on her job, she was living with a bunch of other people, hardly eating, barely getting through her day, and single with no partner, no expressed interest in a relationship, and no interest in children. her settling down with poppy would’ve made so much more sense if she’d interacted with a child even once throughout the series and had a soft spot for them or something. but this was just out of the blue, clearly not written for her, and plain weird. idk why they couldn’t have still tied it in with ruby’s story by connecting it with adoption or found family in some way. why they used poppy from space babies, i have no clue. anita was apparently only pregnant because the actress was, but i was still kinda shocked lol. they really need to give rose something to do. really. the entire episode was just really anticlimactic, at least where the climax was meant to be. the rani and mrs flood and omega were just kinda passively removed from the narrative. it all felt a bit pointless. but then. the sudden regeneration. and that. holy shit. i love billie and rose but i’m incredibly skeptical about what they’re gonna do here. we’ll see ig. 4/10

overall this series was an 8/10 for me. the first 5 episodes were strong, and the good ones were really really good. the 6th one was fucking awful. the last 2 were just weak. i didn’t hate them, but the last one in particular was both weak and insane.

[stabbistabb]

I can’t tell if the crew has daddy issues from Captain Hook or Big bro issues from Peter.

Starting with the more obvious one, Peter is Very neglectful with them. Only really talking to them via notes and treasure maps. And when he does visit in person it’s usually to get help from the crew.

Hook is just kinda a bullying asshole, yes there are moments where he is nice and stuff but 70% of the time he is an asshole. First off he steals their stuff, second causes them problems for his own gain, third he tried to KILL them once.

I don’t think that both of them is abusive per se but they don’t have the cleanest record…

[howfrightening]

the peace that i feel knowing that every voice that hates on hmoney doesn’t matter, and that the majority of audiences like it and want it back and so do the inventors of the ship- the actors themselves🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ never underestimate the love a gay has for that one token “straight” couple.

the way that the hetty and trevor relationship compliments each of their character journeys so well without over taking their main plots and lets them be awful and human, but then also grow is so good. i need to yap more about them honestly.

[kendrysaneela]

Avery Morgan - Thoughts on relationships

[kilucore]

it must have been absolutely insane for nezha to watch the love of his life fall in love with his dad. i would crash out too

[2hoothoots]

because i'm predictable, what're bobby and chloe up to in the villain au? or how's the dynamic between sam and dogen since he's taken psychoisolation to the extreme?

Bobby's in a pretty similar position to the regular timeline - at least, at first glance. he's overworked and underpaid, constantly crunching to try and keep on top of the ever-growing mountain of paperwork his superiors keep handing down to him.

but i think the trajectory of his character looks pretty different? he never really met Raz at Whispering Rock. he never got humbled by him, never had to suffer the embarrassment of his spot as top dog being yanked away by some new kid... but he also never really got to go through a lot of the character growth from their ensuing rivalry? he's definitely mellower than he was as a kid, but he's got a lot of unresolved issues bubbling under the surface - anger problems, poor self-esteem, a tendency to lash out at authority figures...

he still really believes in the work he's doing, and wants the Psychonauts to be the force for good he knows they can be. but he's carrying a growing burden of stress and exhaustion, stuck in a toxic work environment that's more likely to change him (or just make him snap) than he is to change it.

his only real friend at the Motherlobe is Chloe. Chloe is... well! again, first-glance, not that much has changed. she works the same job in the Motherlobe's engineering and aerospace department, and she still gets to pursue her childhood fascination with space.

but the harsher work culture and the more pragmatic, efficient environment have exacerbated some of her less personable traits. she's blunt, rude, and almost fanatically devoted to her work, to the exception of basically everything else. her workplace safety standards are lax, and her ethics laxer. she'd sell the Psychonauts out for one corn chip if she thought it'd get her better funding for her pet projects

[birdricks]

honestly beth and jerry have maybe my second favourite relationship in the entire show just for how interesting and tragic it is. like its brushed aside a lot in favour of other stuff but they were really both just kids... and the saddest part about them is that they maybe do love each other but its always in some way artificial

[lornasaurusrex]

I miss you Lorna… this is such a mess

This is an old message and I had several other similar messages, but I miss you guys and hope you’re all doing well!! I’m sorry to see nothing has improved.

I saw I was kindly mentioned by @awesomefringey and some other commenters the other day, so just wanted to log in and say hello and log back out for a few more months. 💕

Sending so so much love to all of you. Take care of yourselves and each other, please.

The video is still on YT.

[cursed-spirit-manipulation]

jjk is about a lot of things but most of all with regard to Shoko Satoru and Suguru it's about how if you don't interact with people who aren't in your weird fucked up school with like 10 ppl total on a regular basis you WILL become an incredibly interesting adult in a way that makes people pity you

[angelsdean]

Jack: Yeah, he-he wasn't all bad, my dad. Uh, that's what makes our parents loom so large in our heads, I think. They're… a million things to us all at once.

And even after they're long gone, we're stuck with them. Can't help it. They're inside of us. You know, my whole life, I promised myself I'd be nothing like him, but…I ended up just like him.

Kevin: No, Dad. You're way better than him.

Jack: Thank you, my son. And you're gonna be way better than me.

— 5x07, This Is Us