#I was sort of forced off them even though I can still benefit from my joints not constantly aching even now I'm miserable I can't image-

[nyan-bynary]

see the one thing I never liked about house m.d is how the show treated house needing vicodin,,, like if it was anything else helping any other disabled ppl no one would go "gee you sure do rely on that wheelchair too much you sure you aren't addicted?" like as someone whose had to basically take pain medication daily for months at a time in my life or I couldn't fucking stand upright it's just so,,, weird???? like yea these things can be addictive but when the alternative is just to suffer??? yeah I'd fucking take the addicting pain meds over that too rip

#like yea using them is bad hypothetically bc it makes him reliant on them but also like... even if they WEREN'T addicting he'd need them #like it's such a weird stance to me bc in that time of my life if someone would've taken my medication I'd fully break down #I was sort of forced off them even though I can still benefit from my joints not constantly aching even now I'm miserable I can't image- #what it'd be like in a high stress job like his #and yes I am reading way too much into random movie blorbos bc every time it comes up in season one I get +3 damage to my joints

[forineffablereasons]

Oh, Crowley. Nothing lasts forever.

I think the entirely of Crowley and Aziraphale's interactions in the Final Fifteen™️can be summed up by the idea that they are talking past one another, failing to fully understand each other, but I want to talk about this line in particular. This isn't a full analysis of the scene - just this isolated bit.

Crowley: ...If Gabriel and Beelzebub can do it, go off together, then we can. We don't need Heaven, we don't need Hell, they're toxic. We need to get away from them, just be an us. You and me, what do you say? Aziraphale: Come with me. To Heaven. I'll run it, you can be my second-in-command. We can make a difference. Crowley: You can't leave this bookshop. Aziraphale: Oh, Crowley. Nothing lasts forever. Crowley: No. No, don't suppose it does.

As methods of occult/ethereal communications go, the metaphor is quite versatile.

Crowley is saying: stay here with me. We have this enclave. We can be together properly now - stay here with me. Never mind that they have not actually made any progress on this in the last four-ish years since the end of the world. Never mind that Crowley is so stagnant that four years after the end of the world he's still living in his car.

Keep in mind that Aziraphale didn't have the benefit of Nina and Maggie's intervention - Aziraphale doesn't see this as a confession under Crowley's own initiative, he sees it as a response to what Aziraphale is saying. Aziraphale says, let's go make a difference, and Crowley is sort of forced into taking this position as an alternative offer - to Aziraphale, it looks almost like a temptation. Nothing changed in the last four years, but now that Heaven needs you (and we must give Aziraphale the benefit of his belief that Heaven truly does need him, even though this is clearly a manipulation), I'm ready to move forward, don't you want to stay, don't you want to deny Heaven and exist with our heads in the sand?

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale says. "Nothing lasts forever."

To Crowley, who is offering himself and this enclave, this bit of existence that can just be theirs - nothing lasts forever is an obvious smackdown: not even us.

That's not what Aziraphale is saying, though. What Aziraphale is saying is, we can't live like this forever. If we want to protect it, we have to change. Nothing lasts forever isn't a betrayal or a resignation - it's a sacrifice. Aziraphale cares so much about Earth, about fixing Heaven, and about Crowley himself that he's willing to give up the bookshop and their enclave on Earth in order to save it.

They cannot just maintain the status quo. It's been four years since Armageddon and nothing has changed, and keeping on ignoring Heaven and Hell didn't work! It didn't work! They were on their own and here's Heaven and Hell again, in their business, dragging Crowley back to Hell, dragging Aziraphale back into Heaven's politics. Four years was all they got. Four years, and they were under threat, risking each other, risking their very existences. They can't sit in their enclave and pretend it won't happen again because it absolutely will.

Aziraphale spends a lot of this series burying his head in the sand. If he can just hide Gabriel, everything will be fine! (It won't - he'll still have Gabriel.) If he can just make Maggie and Nina fall in love, everything will be fine! (It won't - he'll still have Heaven and Hell waiting in the wings for the next suspicious event.) If he can just get everyone at the Jane Austen Ball, if he can just keep the demons out, if he can just ignore it, it will go away! If he can make the participants know the steps to the dance and if he can control the lingo, he can create a new fantasy world for them all to live in and everything will be fine!

It won't. Aziraphale isn't in control. Aziraphale can't stop this. Aziraphale can't protect himself, and he can't protect Crowley to the point where he has to let Crowley leave him and work a plan on his own. He's a principality, and he can't protect the things and the people he loves.

Then the Metatron walks in, makes a point of validating all the things Aziraphale loves - coffee (food/drink), Crowley (your demon can recognize me even when these angels can't), the shop (do you need to take anything with you? I've made sure the shop will be safe), separates Crowley from Aziraphale - Crowley, Aziraphale's guiding light in all those minisodes, Crowley, the one being Aziraphale trusts - and then.

And the Metatron offers Aziraphale the control he's been missing all season.

Nothing lasts forever. We can't survive in this enclave forever. If we stay here, it will all end. If we stay here, I can't protect you, or humanity, or any of it. I have to try, we have to try, because no one else will, and I'm willing to give up my freedom and my bookshop if it means I can save everything. I want to save it with you, I want you to be with me, I need you, I need us, but--

If I can save you, even if it costs me us, at least you'll have survived.

If that's the price, well. Nothing lasts forever.

#good omens s2 spoilers #go s2 spoilers #go s2 #good omens #ineffable husbands

[netherfeildren]

FEAR OF GOD : Chapter II : Although a monster [Joel] could be charming in company

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC

Content Warnings: Angst, possessive behavior, unprotected sex (there are no condoms in the apocalypse, only vibes), oral sex (f!receiving), squirting, brief non-graphic descriptions of medical procedures / illness,  brief discussion of avoiding meals (no reference to any sort of ED), stupid! Joel ™️

Summary: Joel gets a little stupid and a little jealous.

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: I wanted to mention that that I've altered the timeline a smidge to benefit my own whims. So the Joel we find here is about 50-51 and our reader is in her mid to late 20's (cw: age gap 🤓) Everything else in the timeline is the same up until Joel and Ellie return to Jackson.

Another thing, I hella make shit up in this chapter. I talk about a surgical device and there’s discussions of like mechanical/electrical engineering? which I know fuck all about. So if it reads as nonsense I sincerely apologize. There’s a fair bit of character/world building in this ch. so I hope you all can bear with me for a smidge. There is the gift of porn at the end though >:) 

Chapter title is from Anne Carson’s Autobiography of Red (my favorite book in the whole world which everyone should read). Art is Intimacy by Angelica Alzona

Word count: a whopping 9.6k (I'm so sorry 😭)

Read on AO3

CHAPTER II: Although a monster [Joel] could be charming in company

What it looked like?

Like fucking the forest for once birdless, beastless.

Like measuring the distance between all that’s lost

and everything else that, even now, waved at 

hard enough sometimes,

will sometimes wave back.

But it felt like swallowing the sea– 

being forced to, ships and all. 

Then a silence as vast as it was particular.

The like holding a mirror up to Apollo

and expecting his face there, when Apollo’s always been

faceless, obviously, being a god.

And the hand still holding the mirror up anyway.

And the face not showing.

-Carl Phillips, Star Map with Action Figures

“I mean, yeah, I’d fuckin’ like to think so. I’m not sure. She told me –”

“Ellie, you’re overthinking the hell out of it.”

“I am not,” she grumbles.

“You’re a dumbass,” you deadpan.

That riles her up. “Me?! You!”

“What’ve I done? It’s pretty obvious what’s happening here – Dina wants you to ask her out – you’re too chicken shit to step up.”

“Okay, genius. Y’don’t know what you’re talking about, first of all.” The sass on this girl, honestly. The two of you sit together at the picnic tables that’d been set out in the town center for the monthly barbecue. “You think you’re so damn smart. Well lemme just ask you this, what’s going on with Joel? You two’ve been weird as fuck lately.” That shuts you up quick.

“Don’t even start with that. The answer is nothing.”

She gives you that knowing look of hers, but let’s it go. Silently says: I know this hurts, so I won’t push. Out loud: “You started it, motherfucker.” You yank on her bangs, and she swats you away. “Maybe I should call you a fatherfucker instead,” she cackles. 

“Oh my god, I actually hate you.” You try and swat her back, yank on her bangs again. 

“What’re you two schemin’ about?” Joel’s voice comes from behind you.

“Speak’a the devil,” she says under her breath, starting to gather up her empty plate.“Nothing–” She shoots up, and brushes past, “Gotta go. We’ll talk later,” not even sparing him a glance. You look between the two of them wishing there was anything you could do to help them bridge this cold distance between them. She turns before walking off, gives you the finger behind his back. 

“Ellie, hold on a sec,” you call after her, but she’s off.

“It’s fine,” Joel says. “Leave it.”

“I’m sorry,” shielding your eyes from the bright sun, you look up into his serious face.

He shakes his head. “Nothin’ for you to be sorry about. Ain’t got nothin’ to do with you.” And that stings. Off-handedly as it’s said, it stings that he thinks their rift doesn’t affect you, make you hurt for the two of them.

How could he ever think that after everything he’d told you about Sarah –  a night that’d made you feel closer to him than ever before, while you two lay in bed, still damp and trembling – that you’d not worry about his relationship now with Ellie? Who you knew he loved like a daughter, even if he was incapable of saying it out loud. How could he think it had nothing to do with you now? After what he’d told you about himself in the aftermath of Sarah. That moment, his confession, could sustain you for a lifetime of this push and pull if necessary. With trust like that, what else mattered? Very little, you thought. 

“You get everything done you needed to?” he threads his fingers through the hair at the nape of your neck, and bends to press a soft kiss to your temple. 

You sigh, basking in this small tenderness he offers you after his casual hurt. “Yeah, we finished.” Sometimes you wonder if there’s something wrong with you, taking all this in stride. Luxuriating in his offerings of tenderness and vulnerability one second, swallowing the way he casually brushes you off another. Surely there must be something wrong with you. Especially because, when it comes down to it, you don’t really care as much as you think you should . 

“How’d it go?” You’d had to debride some areas from Mr. Schwartz’s diabetic foot this morning – super fun for the both of you . The foot was famous in Jackson. A great source of shrieks and giggles when the old man decided to pull it out in front of the kids as his so-called ‘party trick’. We all gotta bring something fun to the table, honey, he’d tell you when you tried to put on your false tone of admonishment with him. 

“Long – I had to take more than I’d initially thought I’d need to.”

“He alright?”

“Resting now… Just means it’ll be harder for him later on – take longer to recover, as best he can, in any case. And ideally, what he really needs is a boot – which we have – one… but it’s not in great condition. I don’t even know if it’ll fit him – or a wheelchair, and both of them are being used right now. So, seems my only other option is to order him into bed until I can figure something else out. And of course Connie’s all, this is on you, honey. I trust your judgment, honey. ” You deepen your tone and scrunch your brow trying to inflect Connie’s baritone. “As if that’s helpful.” 

He grips your chin, forcing you to take a breath, brushes his thumb across your bottom lip, and your eyes flutter shut, pressing a tiny kiss to the pad of his thumb. He hums a little, and you catch the flare of heat in his eyes. “You’ll worry yourself half to death, little bird. Take a breath.” You huff a small laugh. He was right about that, worry was heavy on your mind recently. About lots of different things. 

“I fixed you a plate,” you divert. 

“You didn’t have to do that, sweetheart. Thank you.” He swings his long leg over the bench to sit astride it, legs open to pull you between his thighs.

“S’alright. I was getting Connie’s anyway.” He digs in, and you card your fingers through his thick hair – overly long now, it brushes the collar of his shirt in the back, you’ll need to cut it for him soon – and watch the thick column of his throat ripple as he swallows. You press your thighs together – the sun is so strong today. You think it might be making you a little delirious. 

“You’re not eating.” It isn’t a question, posed more like an admonishment, paired with the severe crook of his brow. 

“Nah, I’m alright. Can’t have anything just yet after staring at that foot all morning,” you joke.

“You telling me you’re not as entertained by it as the kids are?” 

You roll your eyes at him. “Shocking, I know.”

He turns to give you an assessing glance now, “You sure you’re alright?”

“Just tired.” You lay your head in the cool, dark crook of his neck, breathe him in. “Birdie …” voice laced with concern – he tries to gently tug you back by your ponytail, but you burrow in further – press your lips to the pulsing vein in his neck. “I’m fine, Joel. Just tired, really.” He huffs. Grouchy man. 

“Hi, honey,” Connie shuffles up to the table. “Joel–” he nods, “You two alright ? That go a long time with Mr. Shwartz?” he asks. 

You’re grateful for the distraction from Joel’s fifth degree. “It was fine. Our handy dandy Bovie is so good.” You’d done your best recently to fashion an electrocautery device, like the ones they’d used before in surgery. The two of you had gathered the different parts over time and much voracious scavenging, to put the system together. “You’ve gotta try it next. We should be real proud of that.”

“You should be proud. You’ve got a nice mechanical mind in you, as well. You know, Joel, the body is just a machine of flesh and blood.” Connie turns his blue eyes, gone slightly milky now, on Joel, ready to impart his slice of wisdom – part lecture, part proud tirade for your benefit, as the younger man continues to work through his plate of barbecue. “She looks at the two the same way; it’s very impressive.” 

Joel finishes chewing: “Our girl is nothin’ if not impressive,” he says, giving you an impish little smirk. You pinch the inside of his thigh over the thick denim, not imparting nearly enough punishment as you’d like to. 

“Shut up,” you grouch at him. “Anyways, the lines were pretty sharp, the cauterization clean. A bit slow, though. I felt a bit held back – but not too bad, considering.”

“Considering…” Connie muses. He starts to eat as well, and the sight of the slick, sauce covered meat is slightly revolting. The sun is way too hot with the change of season into fall just on the cusp, and after staring at poor Mr. Schwartz’s mangled foot all day…  “I’m thinking with a little more juice it’ll be perfect. We just have to find a way to feed it more power without frying the whole system.”

“Yes…  it’s delicate,” he says slowly.”You should ask Noah for advice.” Joel is silent beside you, but you feel the tensing of his thigh beneath your palm at the mention of Noah’s name. “He’s always been very keen to help us in any way we need.”

“Oh, has he?” Joel drawls, in that monotone he loves to use when cutting people down. He can’t fucking stand Noah; it’s quite funny to you, actually. You nudge his knee with your own, still cradled between his spread legs, and drag your nails slowly up and down his thigh, only responding with a non-committal hum. He shifts his jaw in that way he’s wont to do when he’s especially aggravated, cocks his eyebrow at you. You give him a tiny little mocking tilt of your head. You’re sure he can see the laughter at his expense in your eyes. 

“Yes,” Connie continues, completely oblivious to the silent conversation going on between the two of you, “He’s very adept at anything electrical or mechanical. Although, you are, as well, Joel. Perhaps you could advise us too. Any help would be greatly appreciated.”

“I wouldn’t say that, but I can take a look. Offer what I can.” 

You change the subject: “Teddy’s been in again this week.” One of the single mother’s in Jackson, Susanna’s son, Teddy, had been continuously ill the past few months. Coming down with different, seemingly unrelated afflictions on and off. His mother was beside herself with worry, and you and Connie were reaching your limits on what you could do to help him. Much less actually provide a clear answer as to a diagnosis. 

“Yes, I spoke to his mother last night. Some sort of ague again, undoubtedly.”

You roll your eyes at him affectionately. Connie loved to condemn undiagnosable patients with ‘the ague’. “Connie, the ague is absolutely not a valid form of diagnosis,” you laugh. That launches him into a tirade about the conundrum the boys posed to the both of you these past few weeks. And ague is a perfectly valid explanation, honey. Neither of you are certain what’s causing his bouts of illness. Though you’re reluctantly leaning towards something that won’t pose anything good for any of you; you’re trying to remain optimistic, but the uncertainty is taking a toll on the both of you, as well as his mother. 

As Connie goes on, there’s a hazy buzz rumbling around in your brain. Your temples throb, and you press the tender spot into the hard mass of Joel’s shoulder. He’s finished eating now, and you nuzzle into him, breathe in the warm scent of his skin and sweat, grip the hard swell of his bicep – the thick muscle has the most inappropriate arousal pooling low in your belly, but your stomach churns at the same time, and the sun is so damn bright. Too many opposing sensations going on within you all at once, you’re sure you’re on the verge of sun poisoning – dramatic – and it’s making you needy. Infecting you with ideas of crawling into his lap and having him cradle you. He stiffens beneath your attentions suddenly. The soothing large palm he’d been dragging up and down your spine goes still, pausing with his fingertips tucked just below the waistband of your jeans – as if he’s just now realizing how openly affectionate the two of you are being – his muscles go rigid at your display, and then that’s it. He’s pulling away. 

Your gut twists again, your head is really spinning now – you straighten in your seat, scoot back and out of the cradle of his thighs, as far as the bench allows you. Always fucking pulling away. He’s stiff and uncomfortable, but at your retreat he clicks his tongue at you, frowns a little, and you want to snap at his subtle admonishment – you started it, what are you frowning at me for?

Connie is still going on about Teddy. “You sure you’re alright, dear?” he interrupts himself. “You look a bit peaky.”

“I’m fine.” You stand abruptly, “I’ve got to head back, actually.” Joel turns to reach for you, but you step back and away from his fingers. The heat is definitely making you grouchy, sick; you’re not acting yourself. “I promised Mr. Schwartz I’d be back to check on him within the hour.” You don’t want to look at Joel anymore – you’re used to his sudden bouts of tension – discomfort – but something is setting you on edge today. 

“You should eat something before you go, honey,” Connie says – looking up at you with concern.

“I had something before I came. I’m okay.” You turn to look at Joel now, as the lie passes your lips, a provocation held in your eyes and tone.

He frowns, “You said –” 

“I’ll see you two later.”

“Birdie –” But you’ve turned from him before he can continue, walking away quickly. Your head is spinning, gut cramping and turning over on itself. The sun feels like it’s two feet away from you, bearing down on the crown of your head, and you know you’re about to be sick. Always fucking pulling away, always. It embarrasses you a little that you still chafe at it, the back of your eyes pinching and saliva pooling heavy on your tongue. You know the way he is. 

You make it back to the clinic just in time to vomit behind the bushes on the side of the house. 

Jesus. 

-

Susanna brings Teddy into the clinic late in the evening. You’ve just finished writing up your operative note for the ‘famous foot’ (Mr. Schwartz’s words, not yours) when she flies in, frantic, with the listless child in her arms. She tells you he’d been lethargic and without an appetite all day, but she’d chalked it up to fatigue and melancholy from being ill and bedridden so often, recently. His fever had crept up out of nowhere, and now Teddy was almost unconscious, burning hot and delirious – words slurring, eyes glassy. 

It’d been hours since then. Teddy was now resting quietly with cool compresses and ice bags tucked under his arms and against his neck which seemed to be helping. Susanna had retired to the back of the house to rest for a bit, and you now sat between Mr. Schwartz and the boy, quietly reading over a text both you and Connie had already gone over multiple times – hoping to find anything that’d inspire an explanation. Most concerningly of all, you’d noticed a smattering of purple-yellowish, sickly looking bruises along Teddy’s spine. It pushed you in the direction your mind had previously taken concerning what could potentially be the cause of all of this. And even though it was the first you’d seen of any bruising on him, it didn’t reassure you at all. 

-

“Joel’s here,” Nancy, the nurse that worked with you and Connie, says quietly from the doorway. You stand from your bedside vigil, sighing. It’s late, and you don’t want to do this now. A little embarrassed from your earlier fit. A lot tired from the long day and throwing up and the heat. 

“Can you come out and get me in two minutes, please? Interrupt us.” 

She gives you an assessing look. “Sure.”

You walk out to the office to find him leaning against your cluttered desk, bulging arms crossed against his chest, straining the sleeves of his button down. There’s a far off look in his eyes, scowl marring his brow, but when he looks up at you all the tightness in his countenance seems to melt away at the sight of you. “You alright?” His gaze is assessing – sweeping up and down your frame, taking everything in like always. The man sees entirely too much. 

“I’m fine. I need to stay here tonight, though.” You jerk your thumb back towards the exam room. “They need me.”

“You said you were tired.”

“It passed – just the sun.” He looks at you like he doesn’t really believe you. 

“About earlier—”

“It’s fine, Joel.” You feel too tired, too strung out, to give him an out by pretending to ignore that he’d hurt you, pissed you off. Let it be what it was – you had a sick child to care for – couldn’t think about all the distance that would seemingly exist forever between the two of you, not right now, at least. 

“You lied about eating.”

Oh, now he wanted to be fucking honest. You roll your eyes at him, watch his jaw clench. “What?” Tone bratty and antagonistic, “No I didn’t – you misunderstood.”

“You told me you didn’t want to eat, and then you told Connie, not fifteen minutes later, that you’d already eaten.” 

“Well then I misspoke – that’s not what I meant.” You turn away from him towards the desk, busy your hands with the papers littered across its surface to avoid his eyes. You feel like fighting – like baring your teeth at him, and you hate it. You don’t want to fight with him, ever. You want, need, things to be okay between the two of you. “Why are we arguing about this? I have to get back.” The bite in your voice startles you for a second, and your hands pause their shuffling. Turning back to face him, wide eyed and shocked at the way you practically spit the words at him, but, fuck it, you decide to just go with it. 

He doesn’t let you, though – doesn’t take your bait. You watch the muscle in his jaw feather rapidly as he grinds his teeth, fists curled into knots at his sides like he’s trying to restrain himself from throttling you – and you think you’d kind of like him to do it. You’ve gotta be PMSing or something because where is all this sudden desire for violence coming from? You definitely need to sleep soon. 

He exhales a slow breath through his nose.  “Not try’na argue, baby… just figure out what’s wrong.” Your heart twists painfully, the back of your eyes pinching and hot, and you will not cry right now. His words make you even more angry because if he cares so much about such seemingly small things like this, why can’t he just let everything else fall into place between you as well?

Nancy pops her head through the open door, calling your name, “Need you when you’ve got a second.”

“Be right there, Nance.” You throw her a grateful look. 

Turning back to Joel you rub your forehead, trying to press the ache that’s taking root in your brain out with your fingertips. “Nothing… nothing’s wrong. I’m just…” you sigh, suddenly very sad, very tired. You take in his weathered face, his brow pulled down into a scowl anyone who knew him less would take for anger, but you see it for what it is: concern, discomfort, frustration at the tension that’s held constant between the two of you all day. The both of you pulling away and then yanking each other back. You can see he wants to move past this, avoid whatever fight is brewing – too much for him to handle. You know he hates it when you’re angry and annoyed with him, and doesn’t that have to mean something? Please, please it must mean something more. But you’re too tired for this now, your body overwrought from its brief bout of sickness earlier, from your long day. You’d like to go to bed with him and not wake up for a year. Lay on his chest and feel the movement of his breathing rock you to sleep, count the spaces between his ribs, make a home for yourself within them. A great jealousy for his heart, the organ itself, writhes in you, that it gets to live inside him. You’re feeling melancholy and exhausted and overly emotional . Sad that even when he’s the source of your turmoil, your hurt, he’s still the only one you want to go to for comfort. You clear your throat, “I’m fine, Joel. Really.” You try and give him a small smile. “I was in a mood earlier, but I’m okay now.”

“I need us to be okay, Birdie. I– I know…” he looks away, hisses through his teeth in frustration. “I know I don’t always act like it, but–”

You hold up a hand to stop him. You don’t want to, can’t, listen to him try and make excuses. Explain to you things you’ve always understood about what this thing is between the two of you. “We don’t need to do this. I promise everything’s fine. I need to get back.” You step forward to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw, to appease the both of you, but also if only because you can’t help but touch him when he’s near, hands snaking up his belly and chest to fist in the collar of his shirt. He hums low in his throat and grips the back of your neck, other hand low on your back to press you to him, and everything inside you goes liquid hot and wanting, just at the feel of him, the scent of him.

“Try and rest.” He breathes you in at the crown of your head, and you nod against his chest.

“I will. Don’t worry.” But you know he’ll do that anyways, and that alone is a comfort.

-

Connie meanders in about midnight, nocturnal creature that he is, to check on you all. You’d pulled the armchair from the office into the corner of the infirmary while you read in the corner. An all night vigil wasn’t exactly necessary – Teddy’s fever had broken about an hour ago, his vitals were stable, and Mr. Schwartz had been snoring the night away for hours. Nancy lived on the second floor of the house, and was always near and available if necessary, but you were peaceful here. Tucked away in your corner with your book and a throw draped over your folded knees. The anxiety you’d carried heavy in your belly all day had dissipated. Thoughts of Joel settled now, compared to the frenzied hysterical swarm they’d been all day. Sometimes this need for him scared you. That your mood, your physical self, could so easily be altered by him, by his own mood, his words, his touch. The tether he held you by was so strong, it felt unbreakable, permanent. It scared you to think what would become of you if one day he decided to break it.

Connie passes a hand over the boy’s forehead, murmuring to himself as he examines him, pops his stethoscope in to take a listen. His movements are slow and practiced, methodical. You’d always loved watching him work. You’ve passed so far into the realms of exhaustion, you’re a little delirious now, your mind and vision hazy, and you rest your head against the wingback and watch. “He’s settled now. Vitals are steady.” You hum in agreement.

He turns to look at you then, his gaze contemplative as he takes a seat on the bench along the end of the bed directly in front of you. His tired groan makes you smile a little, old man. The fondness for him squeezes your heart. He has something to say, you can tell. “I know your father was an exacting man,” he starts. You nod, still quiet. You know that now is a time for listening. “I think of him often. I know I never met him, but he wanders into my mind quite frequently. I think of the things you’ve told me about him, about your mother and sister–” When you’d first become close, it’d been hard for you to speak of your family, of Beth and her death, but eventually you’d forced yourself to. For no other reason than that the thought of you being the only person left in the world that remembered their names, that knew their stories, wrought a grief in you so profound, it was impossible to keep it all inside. You were scared if you didn’t share, if you carried all that alone, you’d lose yourself in their memories forever. “I think that after all that, after living their deaths in such a gruesome way, it could have been very easy for you to lose yourself in all that. Do you agree?” Another small tilt of your chin. The precision with which he’d always read you, understood you, was the greatest comfort in the world. That sometimes it wasn’t even necessary to tell him out loud what it was you were feeling or needed for him to pick up on it. 

“But you didn’t.”

“I didn’t,” you finally say.

“No…” his eyes take on the thoughtful look he gets, the one that makes you wish you could read his mind sometimes, read the wonderings of that brilliant mind like one of your textbooks. “Instead, you became a splendid and thoughtful physician. A seemingly impossible thing, no? Now, with the state of the world for you to have pieced together a vocation such as this…” his milky blue eyes glint with humor, pride, “Well, it’s all very impressive, my dear.”

“Thank you,” you acknowledge. 

“And even more impressive, considering the fact, that had you been given a choice in the matter, you would never have chosen this for yourself… had the world been different, normal.” And there it is again, that keen sense of knowing.

“Yes.” There is nothing more to say. It is, after all, your most painful, most honest, most shameful truth. Painful, not in the sense that you carried any regret now, when you cared for your patients, when you put the knowledge your father and Connie had given you into practice. But painful in the sense that it chafed at your skin, that desire for other . That small seed that had the great potential of growth within you, to spread like ivy around a house, and squeeze, squeeze, squeeze, until all you were left with were thoughts of what could have been. 

“But like I said… your father was an exacting man, and this is what he chose for you. And then, perhaps, even I played a part in that same theft of choice from you.” You try to interrupt him then, to vehemently deny it, but he continues unheeded. “You got here and you seemed to be a sort of benediction to me. A vessel for all the knowledge I could impart on you. A shepherd I could leave this flock to.” He slips his glasses off the bridge of his nose and wipes them slowly with the hem of his sweater. “I know you’ll take good care of them when I’m no longer here. That they could not have ended up in better, more caring hands.” You hate when he talks about his dying, fills you with a premonitory dread you don’t know how you’ll cope with when it becomes actuality. “But alas, you did what was set upon you, took it all in stride.” He pauses, as if contemplating what he’s about to say next, and you know the point of all this has arrived. You even know where it is he’s going with this. 

“I say all this, my dear, not to dredge up old painful memories, or reminders of what could have been… But because I would not like to see your choices taken from you once again.” And there it is. He levels his gaze at you, quiet for several moments, and it’s like he is here in the room with you now, his presence, his unsaid name heavy and poignant.

“Joel’s a good man, honey, but he’s a hurt man. Hurt in a way I don’t think even you could cure.” 

Your instinct to defend him is immediate. “He’s not— he’s not a hurt man.” You shake your head, brow furrowed, “He’s been hurt before, but it doesn’t define him, Connie. It’s not the sole contributor to who he is.” And that’s true, you know it is. Believe it to your very core. You, who knows Joel better than few others, you know the pains of his past don’t define him.  Perhaps before, they did. A pain so acute it molded him into a creature focused only on survival, or perhaps, he let it get the better of him at times. But he is so much more than all that. Has the strength and the will to set it aside when he so chooses to. Ellie being the perfect example of that. 

Choices, choices, those were the things that defined a person.

“Isn’t it? You can’t live off the potential you see in someone forever.”

“I hate it when you say that.” You sit up, let your feet drop to the floor, and lean forward to stress your point. “What are we all, if not vessels of untapped potential? We’re all just walking around with the possibility of something more inside of us. Of course, of course I value the potential I see in him! I know he has the possibility of so, so much inside of him – that’s what makes me… That’s why I –” You cut yourself off before you can make that confession, a choked sound leaving your throat. You look out the nearby window at the dark street, press your thumb hard into the center of your forehead, will the tension and frustration out of the skin and bone. 

“I know… I know,” he says gently, offering you his hands, palms up – a sign of concession. “But it’s not enough to hang all your hopes and dreams on just that. I want more for you than just that . I want you to have choices. To be able to have what you truly want, what you truly need. I would not like to know that something unfulfilling has been forced upon you once again by the circumstances of this world.” And he says it so sadly, with a look of such tenderness in his eyes, it makes embarrassment burn hot and red in your cheeks. The back of your eyes pinch. What must they all think of me when they see us together? The part that perhaps does, or should, make you the most embarrassed, is that you don’t really care at all. Not in any substantial way that would make a real difference, make you act differently. “I’m not unfulfilled, Connie. I love what we do here,” you say softly.

“I know that, I know. But still…I just–”

You rest your aching head in your cupped palms, bent elbows propped on your knees. You’re so fucking tired. “Connie, please, I know…” you whisper. “Just, please, no more tonight… I’m exhausted. You can tell me all this another time – tomorrow. Just no more tonight.”

“Alright, alright, dear. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to give you grief.” He stands, comes towards you to rest a gentle palm on your shoulder.

“I know… and you’re not… It’s me.”

“I only want good things for you, darling girl.” You press your hand over his on your shoulder, give a short nod. 

“Go home – you need rest. Nancy will stay with them.”

“I can sit for a few more hours. Teddy likes to know I’m here.”

“No, no,” his voice takes on that stern fatherly tone he likes to whip you into shape with sometimes. “Enough for tonight. They’ll both be fine. You’ll see them tomorrow.”

You scrunch your nose at him, “Bossy.” But you stand to go, draping the blanket over the back of the chair. He pulls you in for a hug then, envelops you in the comfort and steadiness he’s always offered you, from the very start. He always smells faintly of peppermint and mothballs and old paper. “It’ll all work itself out, my dear. You’ll find a way. You always do. I’m not worried about that.”

-

Joel watches you leave the clinic from his spot in the shadows across the road. He’s been posted here, obstinate and pissed off with himself, for hours. Especially because he’s certain this must be a new low for him, sulking in the dark, watching for you like a creep. But he just wanted to be close to you. He knows you lied to put him off earlier. Your conversation had left him unsatisfied, restless. He knows you’re pulling away because he’s pulling away. Because he’s putting you off, and he tells himself he’ll give you space, tells himself that’s what’s best, but knows it’s a lie as he thinks it. 

The thing is, despite his obstinance, Joel was not a man who lacked self awareness. He was, in fact, very good at recognizing a thing within himself, and yet still able to make a conscious decision to feign ignorance towards it to the outside world. This set up worked well for him – sometimes … on occasion… But this was different, and he knew it. Feigning ignorance would not work between the two of you for much longer. You were getting tired and sad and frustrated with him and he could see it and hated himself for being the cause of it. And if he was being honest with himself, which in this moment, he was trying to be, he was getting tired of it too, tired of himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in this position with a woman. On the verge of … something. Something he couldn’t confess, even to himself, yet. But to allow himself that, to allow himself the simple act of even admitting what he knew was the truth of his feelings for you – there was a part of him, a very broken part that had not been used in a long, long time, that couldn’t even imagine it. To allow himself that sort of vulnerability. To allow himself the truth of there existing another person in this world, in what this world had become, a partner – a woman he cared for, needed . It was too vulnerable, too precious a thing to allow himself. Perhaps before, perhaps in a world not overrun by death and disease and violence – by loss. 

But what did that even look like anymore? A world bereft of monstrousness? Wiped clean of the beasts that had overtaken it, human or infected. Could Joel even remember such a thing – even imagine it, if only in his dreams? He couldn’t even discern which of the two was worse anymore. Part of him knew it didn’t really matter. Not in the end. It was all conjecture when it came down to losing your life – losing the person you loved. Whether it was fungus or a bullet – dead was dead.

Sometimes he didn't even feel like a person anymore. Just this thing that existed at the periphery of the world. In the moments when he pushed you away, when he turned from the loving look in your face, forced himself to brush off your words and your affection, to hold you at arms length – to protect the vulnerable, scarred mass of his heart – those were the moments in which he was most like a creature, least like a man. 

He thought of a world where he felt safe enough to go to the woman he loved, his Birdie, hold you in his arms and say: here is everything I have for you, I’m begging you, please take it . 

Such a world didn’t exist in Joel’s mind. Couldn’t fit. He’d been stripped of the ability. To have something so vulnerable and new. A type of fragile he’d not held since his twelve year old daughter lay bleeding and broken in his arms, and have the ability to say I am strong enough to endure the possible loss of this. I need you this badly. So badly I am willing to risk even my own heart. 

It looked like trying to swallow the sea. 

He follows you home in the darkness. 

-

“You get that fixed alright?” Joel’s voice barks from the mouth of the garage. You startle, your knee slamming into the underside of the workbench. Deciding to follow through on Connie’s suggestion from yesterday, you’d come to see Noah, knocking on his door bright and early this morning, Bovie clutched in your hands. He’d been more than happy to give it a look for you. The two of you had been sitting here for about an hour now, and in that time you’d seen Joel’s form stalk by at least three times, from out of the corner of your eye. Absurd man that he was, you knew he’d been psyching himself up to barge in here and interrupt the two of you. Seemed he’d brought his attitude with him.

“Jesus, man–” Noah’s hand grips your smarting knee, rubbing it gently, “We didn’t hear you come up.” Joel’s left eye twitches at the we, his gaze zeroed in on the hand on your knee, his teeth bared in the perpetuation of a ridiculous growl as he takes a threatening step forward. You lift your brows at him – all your fire and fight from yesterday put to rest now after some much needed sleep. He cocks his brow back at you, shifts his jaw side to side in annoyance.

“Absorbed in your work?” he drawls sardonically.

“We’ve made some good progress actually! Come see,” Noah says, completely missing Joel’s mocking tone, the poor thing. He gives your knee another gentle pat, and you think you might just see steam come out of Joel’s ears. He steps up behind you, chest pressed close to your back and passes a hand over your hair, presses a kiss to the crown of your head. This fucking guy. Now he feels like getting handsy. You scrunch your nose at him, turning back to face Noah and the Bovie, your shoulder pressing into Joel’s belly. Noah takes in your positions, the possessive hand now curled around your neck – looks back down at the knee he’d just grabbed and then back to Joel’s broad intimidating form and scowling face. You see a slow swallow move through his throat. As he starts to explain the changes the two of you had made to the electrocautery generator, you consider the differences between the two of them. The contrast is stark. Noah isn’t small by any means, average height, a nice build – but there’s something about Joel. Some sort of warning in the air around him, in the space he takes up in a room, that makes him larger than life – something that says don’t fuck with me or mine. Heat pools low in your belly and you press your thighs together tightly. Fucked up, you’re fucked up – you try to brush his hand off your neck – suddenly feeling overwhelmed, your skin overly sensitized. “Quit –” he says low in your ear and you almost whimper. He’s jealous, and it’s turning you on. There’s definitely something wrong with you. 

You try to shake him off again,“ Let go.”

“No.” His voice is steel. Noah is heedlessly going on about the Bovie, about how it only took a slight rewiring from the generator into the hand-piece without overwhelming the system; giving it the little bump of power it was missing. Joel’s thumb brushes a slow, warning path up and down your neck. Down, down, to the top notch of your vertebrae, slowly kneading the fine muscles surrounding the prominence of your bone and then up and pushing into the base of your skull. His hands are warm and dry – the rough calluses abrading your sensitive skin. You feel the flush in your cheeks traveling down over your chest, the tips of your breasts tightening to painful points. You see Joel’s eyes flicker down, taking you in, and he gives a contemplative hum low in his throat.

“I’m so glad you let me help,” Noah says with a warm smile. He’s sweet and so genuine and as you take him in, how completely unaware he is of the silent struggle going on between you and Joel right in front of him, you’re struck by how easy loving a man like that would be. And how unfulfilling for a woman like you. What is it about some people, that they can’t appreciate a good thing unless it hurts a little?

“Connie and I are real grateful that you could help. You let us know if there’s anything we can do for you.” Joel gives him a short nod as you leave.

And then, soft and threatening into the shell of your ear as the two of you walk away from the nice, sweet, uncomplicated boy: we’re goin’ home, and I’m gonna lick that cunt until you’re cryin’, little bird. 

Your steps speed up, trying to outrun the clutch of his hands on your skin, trying to escape – even if just a little. 

You never stood a chance of that. 

-

He follows, menacingly on your heels, as you dart into your house. A rabbit trying to outrun the big bad wolf. You make for the stairs and you feel the tips of his fingers ghost lightly in the ends of your long hair, one foot on the first step, but then his finger is catching in your belt loop, yanking you hard into his chest. Your back thumps against him with a small oof and then his hands are skating along your curves, big palms squeezing your breasts, pinching your nipples through the cotton of your t-shirt.. 

“Bad Birdie, try’na run from me.” He nuzzles, gentle, gentle into the nape of your neck, the line of your hair, presses his mouth to the top notch of your spine. You feel his hot, wet tongue slide over the jut of your vertebrae, small peppered kisses to your nape and your entire body flushes hot – arousal pulling low and tight in your belly. Your clit throbs in time with his panting breath in your ear. His soft mouth is totally at odds with the tension he’s holding himself with right now, the harsh way he presses his fingers into the skin of your hips. 

You can feel the thick length of him pressing into your ass; he’s hard as stone and throbbing – turned on by the chase. You moan, deep and wanton, slick pooling in your panties, ready for him now , just at the feel of his hands on you. “You want it, baby?”

“Y– yes,” you stutter, pressing yourself harder into him. 

“Want me to fuck that needy little cunt?”

His voice is so deep you feel it vibrate through his chest and into your back, down, down your body all the way to the tips of your toes. “Please, Joel,” you whimper. You try to turn in his arms, but he clicks his tongue at you, wrapping his arms more tightly around your waist, half dragging, half carrying you up the stairs to your bedroom.

“I always give my Birdie what she needs, don’t I?”

-

“Settle now. Stay still so I can eat you how I like.” He hitches his hands higher up the backs of your thighs, beneath your knees – spreads you further apart, up and back to press into your breasts, making more space for the broad valley of his naked shoulders. He’d gotten you naked and into bed, quick as a viper. His desperation, evident in the wild look in his eyes. He was unsettled, either by the tension between the two of you yesterday or you around another man, but he was trying to prove some unspoken point to the two of you in the ferocity of his grip on your skin.

He settles his face deep into your sex now and eats. “Who’s all this wet for, huh? Were you thinkin’ about me while that boy tried to get in your good graces?”

“It’s too much. Please, please, please,” you sob. Tears making a slow, steady journey back into your hairline, dripping into your ears. You yank hard on his hair, try to direct his movements. You can’t tell if you’re trying to push him away or pull him closer. 

“Want me to stop?” He laps at your clit.

“I– I dont– I don’t know–” It felt like he’d been at this for hours. “I–”

“It’s okay.” Soft, whispered kisses to the puffy lips of your sex, your slippery inner thighs. You’re so wet, and you’d have burns from his beard and bruises from his teeth tomorrow. “I know, I know you’re just a little bird,” his teeth sharp and mean to the softest part of you, then the broad flat of his tongue to soothe – a sharp, quick suck to your swollen clit. His volley between rough and tender on your vulnerable sex setting you further on edge than anything else he was doing. “But you can take it for me.You can be so, so good for me. My good girl.”

Your cunt pulls tight – throbs like a wound. Hurts in a way you’re desperate for. You love him, you love him, you love him. Goddamn the things he does to you, makes you feel. You need him so much and he gives it all to you exactly in the way that’s the most perfect, just for you. You feel fucking delirious, on the brink of insanity. 

He pushes two thick fingers into you, cunt spasming and clinging. He scissors the digits inside of you, stretches your hole. The squelch is lewd and obscene and messy. You can feel your cheeks burning red and hot, and you throw an arm over your eyes as you feel your slick leak down between your ass to pool on the sheets beneath you – hiding yourself from your own obscenity. 

“Pussy s’fuckin’ good, baby. Tastes like candy.” He pulls out his fingers, slaps your cunt, twice, quick and sharp. The sound you let out shames you, high pitched and whining. “Fuckin’ red ‘nd gaping for me. God, Birdie –” he moans so deep it makes your heart race, brings his mouth back to you – licks a broad stripe from hole to clit with the flat of his tongue. His mouth latches to the aching swollen bud and sucks. “You need me so much dont you? Fuckin’ come in my mouth – wanna taste it.” And he’s right, he’s right, you do, you need him so much. In that instant, you feel so grateful that he knows it.  

Your back arches, everything liquid within you pooling low in your pelvis, pulling tight, and it feels like the world is about to end around you; a catastrophe even greater than anything the cordyceps could have ever wrought. This is what he brings out of you with his mouth and his fingers and his words, and you gush onto his face. He almost fucking whines at the splash of your orgasm on his tongue – slurping down everything you have to give him, you feel your wetness cover his face and beard. This is what you give to each other. 

He gentles his fingers and tongue. Letting your orgasm coast along into echoes and throbs. You try to push him away with your foot on the thick mass of his shoulder, on the brink of overstimulation, but quick as a viper, he circles his entire large palm around the fine bones of your ankle and squeezes. Quit – presses a tiny kiss to the protrusion of your bone there.

“ Mine,” he growls. “Mine, no one touches you but me–” His hands open you wider for him, fileting you for his eyes only. You feel hot and flush, your skin tight, to the point of bursting, like an overripe plum in the sun. Skin fragile and thin, insides viscous, ready to spill your flesh for him, blood burning hot as it churns in your veins. “Not fuckin’ done yet, Birdie. Not done with this perfect pussy.” Tears make a slow path down your temples, your fingers tangled in his hair, wanting to hurt– just a little. Like the delicious hurt of holding him within yourself. The way it feels like an old aching bruise inside of you when he stuffs you full of his cock. And then he’s up, up, up – quick as a whip – his fingers shoving into the tangle of your hair at the nape of your neck, captured in a tight fist like prey in a snare, and he’s shoving your own taste deep into you with his tongue. The kiss, open and savage – he’s fucking your mouth like he was just fucking your pussy. Your heart pushes against the bones of your chest, and you desperately clutch at his shoulders for some sort of countenance. He unmoors you . You have been unmoored by this man. And you want – need – more. 

He kneels between your open legs, thick thighs anchoring you wider and fists his cock, the head gleaming and painfully red. He pulls your thighs over his own thicker ones, and presses the fat tip hard to your sensitive clit, making you jolt and whimper pathetically. “Cock drunk, that’s what you are.” All you can do is nod dumbly, eyes glassy and wet. His voice is so deep. He drags the head down to your entrance, presses just a little, only the fat tip held inside you. He fucks you short and shallow like that, his hips moving in tiny, slow jerks. 

“Please,” you sigh, your eyes fluttering shut at the subtle pressure, at the promise of what’s about to come, “Please, Joel.”

“Please what? Please what?” he mocks, just a little mean, and then he’s surging inside in one brutal thrust. Fucking into you without warning and he’s huge — almost too much to take, even after your orgasms. “Fucking tight,” he grits out. He hoists you up, arms wrapped around your waist and starts fucking up and into you, hard. Not giving you a moment to adjust. Letting go of the restraint he’d held while he ate you out. Cock battering into something deep and sensitive inside you, all you can do is take it. Let him have you as he pleases. 

-

He can feel your slick pooling at the base of his cock and sliding down his balls. He wraps his hand around the fine bones of your jaw, “Who’s pussy is this?” he growls over the wet slap, “Wanna hear it out loud.”

Yours, yours, yours. 

Your face is flushed and sweaty, cheeks red as an apple, eyes glazed, dark, wet lashes clumped together. The fucked out look in your eyes doing more for him than anything else. This is what he does to you, only him . He picks up the pace of his hips, fucks you harder, harder and your tits bounce against his chest. He slaps one of them gently, appreciating the soft jiggle it gives, the small gasp you let out. His other hand snakes low on your tummy and presses down into your pelvis so he can feel the battering of his cock inside of your cunt and shit he’s gonna come soon. Gonna come with his hand feeling himself fuck you from the outside. “Too much, too much, Joel ,” you whine. “Oh god, I– I’m gonna–” You’re soaked, sweat and slick sliding between your two bodies, and clutching him hot and tight as a fist. He can’t get deep enough, can’t give it to you hard enough. He never wants to stop, will never be able to stop. 

“You’re taking my cock so good, so fucking good. Jesus fuck, I can’t, I can’t–” He slates his mouth over your open panting one, licks into the sweet, red gleam of you. Your arms wrap around his neck, and he drags his teeth along your full bottom lip, lets it go with a little wet pop. You moan, head falling back on your neck, beyond words. He bends his head, hand wrapped around the fullness of your tit to bring it to his mouth, bites gently down on the tight, aching bud, laves his tongue around it and sucks it into his mouth. Then he’s pushing you back, letting you fall and bounce onto the mattress, legs splayed. When he pulls out abruptly you whimper – he can’t let himself come yet, not yet, just a little more – and he leaves a hot trail of open mouth kisses down your neck, over your shoulder, sucking the peak of your breast into his mouth again, over the swell of your belly, until he’s between your thighs again and bends his head to devour your slick. His tongue licking deep inside where his cock just was. He’s frantic. There’s no reason to the sense of urgency he feels, the urgency he’s taking you with right now. It’s something subconscious – something primal telling him to mark you, lay his claim. 

He can’t stop taking and taking, always taking.

He pulls up again from between your legs, the abruptness of his movements confusing you, leaving you to deliriously allow him to do with you what he will. “Taste us,” he says as he licks into your mouth, fucking his aching cock back into your spent cunt, so fucking tight always. “One more, baby. Gimme one more, lemme feel you milk me.” And like his own personal little marionette on a string, you do. Pussy fluttering and then pulling tight, a little furl of a knot, squeezing his own orgasm out of him. He feels his balls pull up tight and he’s painting you inside, teeth latched tightly to the delicate muscle that connects your neck and shoulder. The sound from your throat is high and keening, supplicant. He licks the hurt he’s just left. Grinds his spitting cock deep, right into the mouth of your womb. 

Mine, mine, fucking mine. It is a mantra of reassurance for the both of you. 

-

He cradles you in his embrace afterwards, his body wrapped around you as if he were a vine grown from your very heart. He sighs, the sound deep from his chest, and you want to tell yourself you can hear a yearning desperate enough to match your own in the cadence of it. His head drops to your shoulder, nuzzles the vulnerable space beneath your jaw, now riddled with his bites and bruises. You know you’ll enjoy inspecting them in the mirror tomorrow, feeling the warm pull of your belly at the reminder. And the moment is so achingly tender, even more intimate in a way, than your sex. The feel of him surrounding you, soft and quiet. Your eyes feel hot, pinching threateningly. 

“I have to go,” he murmurs, spent cock still buried inside of you. He presses kisses to your hair, your lips, over your closed eyelids. He can’t stop, God, he’s tried – is trying – but he can’t go, can’t part from you. Fighting is so fucking hard when you’ve got no will behind it. When what you’re trying to fight against is the thing you’ve wanted more than anything else in your whole life, and the only thing standing in your way is yourself, your own inadequacy. Perhaps he could endure the agony, the filth of life, the loss, the loss, the loss, with you held in his arms like this. 

His patrol shift started almost an hour ago. The guys were going to ream the hell out of him, he’d been here with you for hours, and still, still he couldn’t stop, couldn’t pull himself away. His lack of will, lack of restraint, of self control – his body and heart’s inability to do what his mind told him to, makes him so angry. At himself, and maybe – not at you, never you – but perhaps, at what you represented. All he wanted but couldn’t let himself have in full. He needed to go. He had responsibilities. He had truths to confess to himself. 

He was in love with you. He was. He was.

Joel was an obstinate man, but he did not lack self awareness. Now was the moment for this truth, if only confessed to himself. So, angry, and in love with you, and tremendously sorry, he turns away. Pulls out of your tight wet clutch with a wince, your breathy gasp making his cock twitch slightly, even so soon after he’s just come. You roll over, burrow into the pillows, and he grips the swell of your ass, pulls you apart to feast on the sight of his come leaking out of you. Obscene. Wet and messy and swollen, marked by his spend. He wants to bend for a taste but knows if he does, he won’t stop, will be likely to start all over again. “I gotta go, Birdie. M’already late.” He bends to nip a gentle bite to your ass cheek, one small last taste, then the press of a kiss. He hopes you can feel all he cannot say with that touch. The soft sound of acquiescence you hum as you burrow further into the sheets has his teeth clenching as he reaches for his clothes, heart turning over in his chest. He’s sure every sound out of you has a direct connection to his cock at this point. 

He won’t shower, won’t wash your drying come from his body. He’ll take you with him, wear you on his skin. Anyways, what did it matter, really, when he already wore you on his heart, his soul? What was one more conquering of his self? Perhaps this was, ultimately, what swallowing the sea looked like.

Chapter III

Netherfeildren Masterlist

#joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller angst #joel miller/reader #joel miller/you #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fic #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #FOG fic

[head---ache]

hello im going to talk about my non fankid oc's because i feel like i talk too much about my children (sorry) and too little about my other characters and i know probably no one cares but fuck you/lh im going to force you to care/j

Tools the Chinchilla (she/they) is the oldest character in the group! (Ironically age wise they're the youngest, being 14). They're an anti hero, of sorts?? But I think a better way to describe her is just a silly chinchilla doing her own thing, not caring about anyone else. They really just care about what they have going on and are going to do whatever they need to get things done. She does not care about relationships at all, and only tries to get closer to someone if it benefits her. They're a investigator/scientist, mostly studying about chaos, so you can guess how that leads her to follow the main cast around, trying to act all friendly to get info out of them (but everyone knows she doesn't actually like them because she's really bad at acting). She also has a very big ego, and constantly compares herself to characters like Tails of Eggman, pushing them both down although she's not really an inventor, unless she needs something specific.

Prince the Peacock (he/him) is my boy!!! I love his concept. He has hypnotic powers thanks to his feathers, and he also cares a lot about his looks. He's very sophisticated, but also very high energy and friendly (he can be a little too much, in fact). He's also a bit naive, but that's mostly because he usually sees the best in people, and believes anyone can be good if he's just nice enough. He sees himself and Tools as best friends, even though she can't stand him, he just thinks they're shy. He's a little bit too scared of everything, but after being saved by the Resistance during the war he feels like he needs to do his part, so he's actually quite brave and very usually pushes himself out of his comfort zone.

Ferocity the Spider (she/her) seems to be somewhat of a fan favorite, and I think that might be thanks to her goth lolita fashion and the fact that she's a spider, definitely not something seen in the Sonic franchise. She's a full on villain, and is que agressive. She has all of the abilities spiders commonly have, but I can't get more specific than that. I'm way too scared of spiders and could only use drawings as reference for her design, so I didn't actually take the time to decide what kind of spider she is bskdbskfnskx She has every move calculated, and takes everything into account, she's very careful and methodic, but, like I said, when she needs to, she can get very agressive and scary. She's also very closed off and untrustful, so while she does have someone she works with (more on that later), she usually prefers to do things herself, just to make sure.

Joy the Horse (she/her) is a total sweetie. She's very shy and quiet, but has the biggest heart ever. She's a baker!!! And has her own bakery:) she sometimes brings some of her baked goods to Restoration HQ because some of her friends are there. She's softspoken and kind, but don't look down on her! She can kick you over the next city if she needs to>:) usually in defense, not in offense. She doesn't fight often, but if her or someone she cares about is involved she goes all out trying to help. Also Joy is the only one Tools tries to be friends with, but that's because they want free food. Joy knows this, and yet she still pretends she doesn't see when the chinchilla sneaks a cookie into their pocket.

Torch the Angler Fish (they/them) is Ferocity's right hand!!! Mostly just the dumb henchman in cartoons. They're way too energetic and impulsive, which is why Ferocity usually has to hold them down. They normally do the dirty work; if they need to fight, Torch will do it while Ferocity watches from the shadows and only interferes if needed. Torch, of course, has a little light that can lure people closer to them, and they often hide in the shadows, to then attack by surprise. They enjoy scaring people, they're a bit of an asshole lol. I said Ferocity is agressive, and yet, Torch is the most agressive of the two, which makes them a bit more scary.

Index the Secretary Bird (she/her) is a cute girly who works for the Restoration as, you guessed it, a secretary. I imagine she was friends with Jewel, and when she saw how much work the beetle had, she decided to step in and help. She's also very methodic, and strict. She actually was a librarian before she joined the Restoration, so you can be sure she has outstanding organization skills. She's a bit unexpressive, and distant, but definitely not mean, and if you manage to get close to her you'll have a friend who will give you the best advice and will listen to you with all of her attention!! She also has some knowledge in first aids, so when needed she also helps in that area.

And yeah that's that the fankids get too much attention so these guys also needed a post dedicated to talking about them tehee

#sonic oc #tools the chinchilla #prince the peacock #ferocity the spider #joy the horse #torch the angler fish #index the secretary bird

[rainbowchewynuggets]

TMA Encore #12

Jon stares down into the gaping corpse of the prison. A stale air current breathes coldly on his neck.

Jon: If this tape has reached any of the members of my team, I would hope that they’d understand that I’m choosing to remove myself from the board to prevent something terrible. And that I’m sorry for doing it. And for everything, really. I… I should have told you all what was happening from the beginning. At the time, I told myself that it was for the better. But I’m realizing that I have a poor metric for those sorts of choices. I knew something was wrong early on and kept it to myself anyway. It was just easier to pretend that I could handle it myself. Clearly not.

He tries to summon some levity, but his throat is too tight.

Jon: You deserved better. You deserved to know.

He squeezes the little silver lighter in his other hand.

Jon: If you haven’t found this tape, it might be because we’re all still down here together. I shouldn’t do it, after all we’ve done to try to make it through this. I don’t want to. I’d just be making the same mistake all over again. But here I am.

He looks at the lace of fuse cord sticking out of each stick of dynamite, maybe six inches from the lighter’s flame.

Jon: It shouldn’t feel this easy. I should be in a much worse place mentally to even consider either option. It just… feels logical. As much as I’d like to blame an external force, I think that would be too easy. The point might be entirely moot, since I can’t seem to light this fuse any more than I can throw myself off. I can’t get myself to back away, either. Maybe I’m just waiting for a cue. A scare or something to let me know when it’s time to get going. Always seems to do the trick.

He can’t think of any more quips to distract himself. He can’t think of anything to say at all. He stops the recording and sets the player down on the ground beside him. The lighter thumps nervously against his leg as he scans the black void at the base of the Panopticon.

~

Not-Jon: Hello, Jonah.

Jonah meets him with his most unsurprised look.

Jonah: Nice to finally meet the creature that’s been stalking me.

Not-Jon allows himself no reaction beyond a difficult swallow.

NJ: Old habit.

Jonah looks him up and down. Not-Jon’s eyes are locked on him.

Jonah: Are you quite alright? You look uncomfortable.

Not-Jon strains to stand up straighter against the wall. Jonah waits for him to move, but he remains struggling to stay propped up where he is.

NJ: I suppose I should have thought to lock up the archives.

Jonah: Just figured I’d give you a hand. An ambitious design requires careful execution.

He steps back and rests against the opposite wall, facing the strange creature.

Jonah: Though, I must admit that I’m impressed. I never imagined you could become such a willing propagator for your patrons. Especially after what I heard on those tapes.

NJ: “Willing” with no other choice.

His voice is hard and sharp.

NJ: This way, they’re all likely to make it out alive. I at least haven’t stooped to sacrificing bystanders and victims.

Jonah: A credible threat reaps the same benefits, whether it’s followed through or not. You know that. There isn’t really room for ethics in our line of work.

Not-Jon is miserably silent.

Jonah: And I’m afraid you may have pushed some of your pieces a little too far.

Jonah takes out the three fragments of the ring. Not-Jon gives them a long look before tearing his eyes away back to Jonah.

NJ: Oh. Well. That would explain why this is so much harder than I thought it would be.

His sardonic tone can’t disguise the shaking in his voice. He gasps, winded from talking.

Jonah closes his fingers and moves to the back of the tower.

Not-Jon attempts to follow. He can barely move his feet and has to slide along the wall by one shoulder. Jonah reaches behind the cavernous remains of the stairs and pulls out a shotgun. He takes a shell from his pocket and loads it, then points the nose of the barrel at Not-Jon at point blank range. Fear is plain on his target’s face. He lets the moment sit, drinking it in.

The gun fires. The slug shatters bone and burrows into Not-Jon’s chest. Gunpowder burns the exposed flesh. He doubles over like a crumpled piece of paper. One hand holds the wound, the other is pressed against the floor with his legs bunched under him. He grits his teeth as he clings to his last ounce of strength, which threatens to leave him with each passing moment.

Jonah takes a step closer and kneels to meet the creature’s burning hateful eyes.

Jonah: It must be terrible. After all that careful planning and work, some underestimated detail arrives at the last minute and puts you back in your place.

Not-Jon wheezes painfully.

Jonah notices a running feeling in his hands. The broken ring has turned to dust, its illusory purpose served. Jonah processes this a second too late.

Not-Jon’s defeated act vanishes. He lunges and clasps his hands around Jonah’s throat. They struggle and hit the floor. Jonah is pinned as Not-Jon chokes him, vaporized blood rising from his hands.

NJ: It really is terrible, isn’t it?

~

Not-Martin’s concentration is broken. His sight turns probingly in the direction of the central watchtower.

NM: Oh, god.

~

Using Jonah’s sphere of influence as a gateway, the Entities push outward, overextending themselves. Not-Jon’s awareness expands beyond the Institute. Far, far beyond. He can see and feel the presence of the competing Entities’ places and objects of power. Their prowling avatars. Their euphoria. Their malice. The fear, misery, and ruin they create. Despite all that he’s done to dilute it, it saturates the earth. It seeps through endless fissures made between worlds, waiting only for enough points of cohesion to bring the Entities through.

The interference is agony. His head is filled with splintering wood.

He can’t stop here. He has to get rid of all of it. No trace can be left behind.

It can’t wait any longer. It’s the only way.

The only way.

~

Tim and Sasha are lost in the dark. They were at opposite ends of a complicated room when the flashlight ate through its last battery. They can’t find each other. A rushing sound approaches them with a flash of blinding light.

Not-Martin grabs hold of his younger double just before the flash floods their tiny cell.

————

Next comes the scary part.

Next

Prev

First

Index

#the magnus archives #mag200 spoilers #magnus pod #tma fancomic #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #sasha james #tim stoker #jonah magnus #elias bouchard #not-jon #not-martin #the entities #tma encore 12 #cw suicide #cw violence #cw gun violence #cw blood #cw body horror

[cassiekayscreams]

Jeckyll and Hyde Miraculous AU

Miraculous has come up again in my hyperfixation cycle, so I’ve decided to revive an old concept I never had the time or energy to do anything with. In fact, I’ll probably just drop this and then disappear into obscurity again. I love the idea of the civilians and superheroes actually being different people - sort of a Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde situation. (More directly inspired by Jackson Jekyll and Holt Hyde from Monster High; I never read the original Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde so I don’t know how much of an accurate representation it is.) So instead of the miraculous holder having a Kwami that transforms them into a superhero, the miraculous basically allows the superhero person to “possess”? the person. The holder and superhero share a body, though the appearance transforms when the superhero “takes over.” The holder/host is completely unaware that they are the superheroes/that the superheroes are inhabiting their same body, other than they black out for extended periods of time and come to in different places or situations than they last remember. The heroes, meanwhile, are aware enough that they are inhabiting another person’s body and they’re aware enough of their lives to know things they need to know to protect their identities - where they live and go to school, who their family is, etc. But they don’t share memories with the host so they don’t feel the same way about people. They’re their own separate person with their own separate ideas, relationships, and personalities.

Key Differences from Canon Rather than “miraculous holders” being chosen based on their own personality traits (ie Marinette and Adrien both showed kindness and self-sacrifice in helping Fu), it’s based on if their auras are comparable with and can sustain the miraculous. No kwamis Since holders/hosts don’t really realize they’re the superheroes/villains (am gonna have to come up with a name for this persona/form of them), the miraculous can’t be misused in the sense that the person chooses to use it for evil. Instead, the miraculous itself, and thus the “possessor”, is corrupted and evil. The holder/host may even be a good person and not realize their alter ego is evil. Opposite can be true with heroes, as well.

Marinette

Characteristics -Anxious overthinker -Clumsy -Hard time standing up for herself but will absolutely stand up for others, especially her friends -Chronic people pleaser -Very sweet but has a hard time making friends (comes off as shy; is kind of wary of opening up to others) Differences from Canon -Instead of her improved confidence coming from her being Ladybug and also support from Tikki, it’s from her new friends (namely Alya) -No Tikki to help keep her from spiraling

Ladybug

Characteristics -Fairly serious/no-nonsense -Very focused -Excellent strategist -Civically minded -Major sweet tooth Differences from Canon -Opinions of others not colored by Marinette’s relationships with them (no favoritism to the Ladyblog due to Alya being Marinette’s friend, no crush on Adrien from knowing him at school) -Since Mari is unaware she is Ladybug, Ladybug can’t be used to solve Marinette problems (swinging across town when running late, checking on Adrien, telling Lila off) -Ladybug eats a bunch of sweets instead of Tikki

Adrien

Characteristics -Chronic people pleaser -Lonely and isolated -Sheltered sunshine child that’s secretly depressed (neglect’ll do that to ya) -Longs for acceptance, friendship, and love -His father still forced him to be a model, but on his own, he’s actually quite the bookworm/nerd due to using books, video games, and shows/movies for escapism -Totally geeks out over there being real life superheroes, which gives his slight crush on Ladybug Differences from Canon -Doesn’t get the benefits of escape/freedom as Chat Noir -Hasn’t interacted with Ladybug as Chat Noir and doesn’t know about what she’s like in person, so his crush on her is really just a celebrity crush -Not a sentimonster cuz I don’t wanna deal with that nonsense

Chat Noir

Characteristics -Chaos gremlin -Somewhat feral and unhinged -Genuinely a Good Boy but comes off off-putting -Public probably wouldn’t like him if not for Ladybug -Easily distracted -I Do What I Want -Sneaky -Cat -Loves cheese, esp Camembert Differences from Canon -Opinions of others not colored by Adrien’s relationships with them -Doesn’t have all of the trauma that comes along with being Adrien -Chat Noir eats the Camembert instead of Plagg

#Jeckyll'n'Hyde Miraculous AU #Miraculous Ladybug #Miraculous #Ladybug and Chat Noir #digital art #artist on tumblr #I've been holding onto this hyperfixation with a death grip so I could write and draw stuff before it moved on #Miraculous fanart #Jeckyll’n’Hyde Miraculous AU

[chocolatespyro]

Me learning to not give people the benefit of the doubt when they've been given the benefit of the doubt about 50 times already

(III 15 edition. Spoilers under the cut if you still haven't seen it somehow.)

EDIT: Took out the part about them not mentioning her disability since Bot does say that they wouldn't want Cabby to forget iirc, also about them not thinking kids would understand disability since I wasn't happy with those points and I feel they were inaccurate or somewhat off-topic. That's pretty much it though.

The more I think abt it the more I can see how the Bot apology sucks lmaoooo

Dunno if this was a point made on Twitter (I've heard there's been discontent there? I dont have Twitter tho but I'd LOVE to hear more from other Cabby fans abt what's going on there. u can leave comments on this post if u want or u can just rb and do it thru tags.)

Anyways, to my main points: Bot just says they're sorry for... forcing Cabby to get permission to use her files?

What about them lying to Cabby? I don't believe they ever really apologized for that. OR TOLD HER THAT THEY LIED??

Bot also doesn't really apologize for the other main points people were upset for I think?

I don't think bot ever really takes full accountability for judging Cabby either. No one does really. Like... at least an

"I'm sorry. I really screwed up, and so did a lot of the other contestants. We were too harsh and judgmental towards you for no reason, and our insecurities shouldn't have gotten in the way of you being able to remember. This was supposed to be a fun and welcoming environment and vacation... but it became a nightmare for you instead. I know this won't make up for all the damage done, but I hope this file is useful to you."

(maybe reworded some to fit Bot's personality better, but the apology shouldn't have just been this quick one-off moment taken to the side like in canon.)

To kinda add to the above, I also think it would've been nice if Bot fully noticed and acknowledged HOW other people haven't been treating Cabby very kindly too by giving examples of where nobody stood up for her. Lifering was a great supportive person in the episode, but Bot was there for some of the shit that was pulled against Cabby, ESPECIALLY in episode 7. I so wish that that was acknowledged here. And the fact that Test Tube went directly behind Cabby's back to do that. Where does Bot think Test Tube got those files from?

There's also the fact that Test Tube never approaches to apologize for judging Cabby for no reason. Like she just stares at Cabby and Bot hugging for a few seconds after Bot apologizes that's it. And she... doesn't accuse Cabby. That's the barest fucking minimum she could've done.

Also... the "inaccurate depictions" thing wasn't even true outside of Baseball's file... and that was a bunch of contrived bs. Like Suitcase literally had this whole thing where she stood up to Nickel and I guess... Cabby glossed over that somehow??? I can't suspend my disbelief this much sorry all. Idk where the "Manipulated by Balloon" shit came from. Correct me if I'm wrong bcus I haven't seen season 2.

The only reason why it was inaccurate with Bot is because Cabby thought Bot was Bow, something Cabby IMMEDIATELY corrected herself on. Bot coulda just... reminded Cabby that it wasn't her fault because she didn't know Bot and Bow were two different objects and told Cabby to just... start a new file like others said??? So that shit didn't make sense.

The apology just... kinda feels shallow. Cabby didn't do anything wrong here. She's beaten herself up over this shit. It just hurts to watch.

Bot only really apologized for a single thing and we don't get any acknowledgement towards the lying or the mistreatment or Cabby destroying Bow's file as some sort of garbage symbolism attempt.

Bot's apology was kinda supposed to tie everything together and top everything off nicely in a better and at least slightly more satisfying way than whatever the fuck 14 did, but it just... doesn't. It barely acknowledges the issues. They don't really show how seriously they screwed up with Cabby.

I wanna believe that AE has the best intentions here, but they're on very thin ice in my eyes. If they screw up any next steps with Cabby and/or never address Cabby's issues with Test Tube ever again, I think I'm done having any kind of faith in AE. Even Cabby winning wouldn't save it.

Yeah sorry this got really depressing, this situation is just sad

#ii neg #bot neg #test tube neg

[miekasa]

NO LET'S TALK ABT HIM WHTVR U SAY I WILL LISTEN IT CAN JUST ME U AND ME LOL

PLEASE!! LETS!! HE’S VERY SPECIAL TO ME!!! Here are some very unorganize thoughts I have about him. (Spoiler: he’s my honey pie and I love him alot </3333)

Satoru is annoying. Genuinely. Not in an endearing way, truly… but it’s also extremely admirable. Someone like him doesn’t have to give the time of day to anybody he feels is undeserving, someone like him doesn’t have to try to get to know people and force himself to such close proximity (literally) to people, but he does anyway. Satoru is annoying, but he’s annoying on purpose and somehow that’s way more comforting than someone who’s just plain old terrible to be around; everything he does has a purpose—even hanging off of your shoulder like deadweight. 

He’d be a terrible friend with benefits. The… benefits would be great, of course, but he’d completely throw the whole “no strings attached” part of the arrangement out the window. His strings are very attached, in fact all of them are attached. He’s waiting for all of yours to be attached too. 

He’s supposed to be a lightweight supreme, but hear me out… Satoru loves brunch lmfaoooooo. It’s the atmosphere of a Saturday morning brunch… nice pastries… fries for breakfast, eggs for lunch…. and champagne with it at that. How could he turn that down? He’s absolutely tipsy halfway into his first mimosa but who fucking CARESSSS not him!!!! He’s having the time of his life. 

He… likes seeing people eat. Not in a weird way or a sexual way, he just likes to know that he people he cares about are well fed and have good food. There’s a sense of pride that washes over him when he takes his students out for lunch, when Megumi comes over for dinner, when he can convince you to share an extra appetizer with him.

He does this thing where he sort of… hovers? around you. He’s like a little worker bee when he’s talking your ear off about something, unable to keep still. You could be walking, and Satoru will still flutter from your right to your left side, even has room to circle around you sometimes even while you’re walking because his legs are just that long and he’s just that excited about what he’s sharing with you. He’s gotta make sure you’re listening though, so sometimes he stops you in your tracks, right in front of you to bend down slightly and inquire, “Hey? You’re listening, right? This is important!” 

He has a concerning amount of Miffy merchandise. Plush pillows, blankets, trinkets, a keychain, even an apron—Satoru is strangely obsessed with that little bunny. Megumi can confirm this addiction, and while he thinks it’s strange, he still holds on to the Miffy blanket Satoru gave him when he was 10. 

Speaking of Megumi, getting him dogs was definitely Satoru’s grand plan to Make This Grumbly Child Love And Respect Me when he first took the kid in. Satoru thought he’d arranged to pick up two little black and white poodles from the shelter—and yeah the dogs weren’t very curly-haired when he’d brought them home, but they were only a few weeks old, who was he to judge. It’s when the dogs are damn near Megumi’s size one year later that Satoru realizes they are not poodles, and that he’s gonna be cleaning up after a lot of dog shit until Megumi gets big enough to do it himself. 

The Fenty chapstick AND gloss bomb stays on him!!! AT ALL TIMES!!!! 

Jewelry aficionado. For himself, but also for you. Satoru’s got a few pieces of jewelry he wears himself; a couple of nice watches, a slew of cuff links one of which you swear has diamonds on it, some rings, a few pairs of earrings, silver tie clips, even a necklace when he’s feeling fancy. He claims to be very particular about his jewelry—“Gotta look for the finer things in life, my love!”—and very particular about the jewelry he buys you, too. Say the word and it’s yours—solid gold, diamonds, pearls—actually, you don’t even have to say anything, just look at it for long enough and he’s on it. Plus, he likes seeing you wear things he bought you. You’re his baby, he’s gotta take care of you. (You will get matching pinky rings). 

It’s almost cute the way he always has candy on him. Almost. It’s not so cute when he gets patted down going through security at the airport and he’s told to empty his pockets and it’s a bunch of wrapped candies and lollipop and it’s six in the morning. He screams your name way too loudly trying to catch up with you when you turn and leave him to head to your gate. 

Terms of endearment come easy to him. It’s easy to say he’s a flirt, but something that makes Satoru’s words extra sweet is the way he says my. “Come here, my love”; “How are you today, my dear? Have anything good for lunch?”; “Aren’t the kiddies so cute—ah my cute little students, even when they’re upset with me, don’t you think?”; “You’re my baby you know that? My sweet girl.” 

#anonymous #i will SCREAM!! HE HAS MUCH LOVE TO GIVE!!! ITS NOT ALWAYS REFINED IN THE WAY HE GIVES IT #BUT ITS HIS LOVE REGARDLES!!! AND HE DESERVES IT BACK!!!!! #he makes me very *twirls hair and clicks my heels together* #gojo x reader #satoru.ask

[anoray]

Ahsoka Episode 7

My off the top of my head comments at the moment:

Hera's green make up looks so much better in this court martial scene. Is it the outfit change? Love the new outfit, so much nicer than the orange flight pants and bulky headphones. Ear cones, yes!

Hello, my beloved C3PO to the rescue. So lovely to see your golden face. And Mon Mothma, I like you soooo much better in Rebels and Ahsoka than in Andor.

Thrawn, you are as slick as ever. I still don't understand how or why you and Morgan Elsbeth got so connected or why she wants you in power. I'm pretty sure you will dispose of her and the Great Mothers once you no longer need them for your nefarious purposes.

Wow, how nice of you to just dump your apprentice, Baylan Skoll. You are definitely no Jedi. I think you are about to meet some sort of Zeffo and your doom. As for Shin Hati, maybe when she figures out Thrawn plans to abandon her and her master, she'll switch sides. Who knows? Not holding my breath on that one.

Eman Ezfandi as Ezra = perfect casting. Not quite in love with the way they did the Force kung fu, though. It could have benefited from a bit more Ezra-ish pizazz. His initial scoffing about Sabine being Ahsoka's padawan was spot on, but how could they not mention Kanan when her "earlier training" is brought up? My inner grump is grumping.

Speaking of what seems like ongoing Kanan erasure, it appears Sabine told Ezra nothing about Hera having his son. On top of that, she's still hiding the cold hard truth of how she found Ezra. Rebels Sabine would be smart enough to know Thrawn is using her to track down Ezra and she'd warn him about the precarious situation they are in even though this means she has to reveal his chances of getting home are slim at best. Sadly, this live action version of Sabine with her non-stop evasive maneuvers and lies is not endearing herself to me.

Huyang, on the other hand, has been added to my droid blorbo collection. If only Ahsoka and Sabine would listen to him more often considering he's been around Jedi for thousands of years and has a huge archive of experience and knowledge...

So I guess the race is on to see if our heroes can get back to their own galaxy. There is no way that Thrawn won't return in the hyperring, but how the others get back is something to ponder between now and the finale :)

#ahsoka #ahsoka spoilers #it was an entertaining episode #let's see ezra at full throttle please #give him a chance to shine as a jedi #please stop making sabine so unlikeable she does not deserve it

[houseofbrat]

Loved the submission you just posted! And wanted to comment on something mentioned in it - “I think there has been a serious breach between Charles and William.”

IMHO - the reason for this is clear if you pay attention in that the public embraced Charles III as King.

William truly believed what his mother and the media have claimed for decades - that the public would revolt when KC3 became King, except that never happened. Immediately after his accession, KP still played nice but from my observation that all shifted after the German state visit. That’s when the decades of work KC put in as Prince of Wales started paying off - the rapturous welcome, speaking German in Parliament, receiving firsts that Lizzie never did like the Air Force escort.

After that the briefing against The King from KP has been relentless, same as they briefed against H&M, as well as the public disrespect because they know the media won’t criticize them to keep those exclusives flowing.

There’s not going to be joint engagements between father and son because William cannot be trusted to position himself publicly as serving his father. The last years of QEIIs life, Charles was regent in all but official title but not once did Clarence House ever brief anyone to refer to him as such. KP can’t even bring themselves to say that Willy does investitures “on behalf of The King”. He will gladly not only take credit for his fathers work without honoring, like town developments in the Duchy, but attribute it to being inspired by his long-dead mother.

I hate to admit that Harry has a point when he says William is the problem. He’s drunk off his own self importance (hid well by the same PR facade Harry benefitted from) but he’s hoping that pretty family pics and media obedience will hide something any thinking person should be able to admit - he’s a woefully inadequate Prince of Wales compared to his father and is shaping up to be an even worse King.

Yup.

And I do have to wonder how far William thinks he can take his secret pissing match with his father. To what extent will William try to upstage his father because William is used to being the UK media's "goldenboy." Because William is used to having people whitewash his reputation in the media because he was the heir, and Harry's exploits were always published to make William keep looking good.

I'm reminded of the comments @helenaaurelia made about William after he threw Lady Susan Hussey under the bus, almost a year and a half ago.

A:

Its making me rethink everything he’s done, everything the palace has done. I’ve always blamed the more heartless decisions on Charles ,with William just supporting his father. Now I’m wondering if the roles have been reversed, looking at the changes that seemed to have occurred as William became more and more powerful, wondering how much of it he was responsible for. I just deleted a whole paragraph of speculation, deciding that he probably doesn’t deserve me thinking out loud about every ruthless and possibly heartless decision the BRF has made in the last decade and wondering if he was behind it. (No I won’t tell you what I deleted, that’s the point of deleting it.) From now on though, I’m looking at him through the same lens I look at Charles with. No more benefit of doubt for William.

and B:

The stories about him reminding everyone exactly who he is and who he’s going to be. I always assumed they were false, and that the stories of him always humbly waiting in line, not telling anyone who he is, trying to fly under the radar, being a nice helpful, friendly guy were all true. Now I wonder why I was so quick to believe the good about him and so quick to dismiss the bad. I still think he’s a kind, decent man who truly wants to do good. I just will no longer dismiss any unpleasant stories about him without the same scrutiny I give stories about everyone else.

And I think the anon from yesterday is totally right that "William is having a mental crisis of some sort."

The KP timeline of Kate's cancer and William's work schedule doesn't make sense. In the world according to the Kensington Palace comms team, W&K found out about her cancer on the 27 February, and she was able to start her "preventative chemotherapy" in less than 48 hours after that. And yet, William didn't need to change any of his work schedule to accommodate her first round of "preventative chemotherapy" that week.

Adjuvant therapy, aka "preventative chemotherapy" can be finished in as little as three months. KP has conveniently not let anyone know how long Kate will be doing "preventative chemotherapy." Is she doing this for three months or six months? IF she's only doing this for three months, then that means when the kids started back up at school after their Easter break, she would only have one month left. Which is the same time the KP comms team let everyone know that William can only work ONE DAY per week while his kids are in school full time. Kate could theoretically almost be done with her "preventative chemotherapy," yet William needs to hide from the public for even longer? Except for the big events like Trooping, Garter, D-Day 80th anniversary, etc., because William won't have to engage with the general public for those. William has to get his picture taken for the big events.

As I said before, there are so many problems that the situation is not “Where do you start?” but “Where does it end?”

Because, yeah, I do think William is having a mental crisis. I think he has been hiding something in an attempt to upstage his father's big announcement. Because that is something William would do. It was something he had no qualms about doing until his home life started unraveling with Kate. And who really knows what is going on with her because KP has never been honest, and I've always found it suspicious that Kate filmed her cancer announcement video with William's private secretary present instead of her own.

So, yeah, calm before the storm 'n all, and I can tell there is going to be a huge shit storm because Charles just called Kate a rank celebrity on Tuesday with that "honour." We're about to have a major BRF scandal because William decided to prove that he really is Diana's son by going full Spencer. And any longtime BRF watcher will know that "Spencer" equals crazy or egomaniacal crazy.

#ask #my gif #british royal family #King Charles III #William The Prince of OWN GOALS #William The Terrible #William The Weak #prince william #William The Prince of Wales #prince harry #Epic tale of DUMB #Prince & Princess OWN GOALS #titles 'n shit #letters patent #“Celebrity” Catherine Middleton #kate middleton #Catherine The Princess of Wales #Wales fandom ARMAGEDDON #William goes Full Spencer #NEVER go Full Spencer

[bylercore69]

The Milkvan Breakup Problem

There's still some shit that just doesn't sit right with me:

If Byler is happening next season, then micellar water needs to break up right? Ok, so it would have been way more natural to do that in st4: it would confirm that El didn't believe Mike's bullshit speech, that she's on the road to independence, that she is starting an arc of learning to see her usefulness for being who she is and loving her friends, not just for her powers.

But no, now they have to break up next season, and how tf are they gonna do that? If there's a 2 year time jump? Do you really mean to tell me that the relationship lasted two more years like that? Even though El knows? I don't see her putting up with that shit. So they can't break up at the beginning. What about in the middle? That's so exhausting tho because that means that they resolved or at least shoved off this problem for two years and now it either resurfaces, another issue comes up, or both and then that is what finally gets them to break up. Then they're broken up and there really isn't enough time for Byler to happen without it seeming like Mike is homie hopping. Or they could start out the season and just say "Oh we kind of drifted apart" or "we broke up two years ago" and not actually show it. I don't think I even need to explain why that would suck ass.

Now the most likely solution is a flashback. They'll either start out s5 exactly where s4 left off and then do the time jump or start out s5 two years later and flash back to the break up. I don't mind this, but I don't like it either. I think it doesn't pay enough respect to Mike & El's relationship. Sure, maybe their romantic relationship was shit, but they are really great friends who love each other so much, so I think they deserve a patient, emotional, real-time break-up and time for both of them to process it.

The best way I can think of for them to do this was for Mike & El to break up at the end of season 4. That was simply the only time for it. But they put it off because they wanted to continue their little queerbait game: keep the Michelle Pfeiffers engaged and the bylers hopeful. God forbid Byler nation gets an obvious win. They made this decision based on marketing, not what's good for the story. So just remember, Byler nation: even if Byler is endgame, the Duffers are not innocent. They still queerbaited us because they are reaping the financial benefits of leaving the door open when it should have been closed from a narrative standpoint.

And now, you're not going to like what I think they should do: I think Mike has to cheat on El. All the other options are so shit, but at least this one is dramatic and I think El can forgive him. I still think it's unbelievable that the two of them would remain in this loveless, limbo of a relationship, but if for some reason the Duffers don't break them up immediately somehow, Mike has to feel trapped in the relationship but be unable to resist Will anyway. And it's not fair to Will or El, but when Mike is forced to admit his feelings and make amends, truly and genuinely this time, he will finally complete his arc and his un-asshole-ification.

Edit: My last paragraph may have been a bit dramatic: I really really dont want that to happen. But even if I did, I shouldn’t have used the word “cheat” when I really mean “overlap in his feelings” like he realizes his feelings for Will and maybe even has some sort of conversation with Will before the break up. I just think it’s kind of sad to tac it onto the beginning of s5. It should be woven into the rest of s5 somehow, but ig they had too many production problems so this is just how it has to be

#byler #byler endgame #fuck the duffers #boycott st5 #boycott stranger things #byler better be canon #byler is canon #byler rights #byler nation #byler fic #will x mike #will byers deserves better #will byers is gay #mike wheeler loves will byers #mileven breakup #anti mileven #stranger things 5 #stranger things 5 prediction #st theory #stranger things season 5

[critrolecannibal]

Like so many others I've got Good Omens brain rot right now and I've got thoughts...

Not so sure about the Evil Coffee theory, I can see its merits though. They did draw A LOT of attention to that coffee Metatron gave Aziraphale.

My thoughts all come from a place of religious trauma, and probably some mommy/daddy issues. I honestly think that this was good old fashion manipulation on behalf of Aziraphales superiors.

Aziraphale has spent the last 6,000 years with an internal struggle between his desires as an individual and literally everything he has been raised/created/taught to live for and believe. He has spent so long wanting to believe that Heaven is the "good side" that he has forced himself to have a blind eye, always giving them the benefit of the doubt.

He wants to believe that there is a reason for everything, that God would care about Her creation as much as he was told to. Because as angels they were told to love Her creation.

AND HE DOES

He is the only angel that looks upon creation, not just Earth but even Hell and thinks they're there for a reason and he respects that. (Even if he is adamant that Hell is the bad side)

He saw the first angels fall, saw their punishment for insubordination- even something as small as Crowley's little questions. He saw Crowley fall for asking questions and he associated that with being a bad thing- so of course he would be afraid of questioning the institution of Heaven.

For Aziraphale

Questions are insubordination

Insubordination leads to being cast into hell

The creator is good, so Hell must be bad

Hell is only for disobedience

He's been terrified of falling ever since before the beginning. We saw him try to warn Pre-Demon Crowley to be careful about asking questions. He wants to get approval from his Creator, wants love and acceptance from his Creator.

Even though Aziraphale may not agree with Heaven every step of the way, he has convinced himself that Heaven must be good. They have to be. Because if Heaven isn't good, then what is he? That's why he keeps running back to the comfortable feeling of Heaven even AFTER they do things he himself would deem as bad.

~I see some of their deeds as bad... But the creator has approved of it so it must be alright... It will be alright in the end, this is the means to something better. The almighty knows all, and knows that this will lead to something better... I hope. I shouldn't question...~

As someone who grew up in a religious family and household, this sort of rationalization is super common. And it just enforces this notion of not questioning things because Heaven knows better. God knows better.

Aziraphale also remembers Pre-Fall Crowley. He remembers how happy he was when he created his "nebula". Since being a demon he hasn't seen Crowley ever at that peak of outwardly happiness. So in his mind, Crowley might be better off, might be happier as an Angel. Wants to get him back to "The old times", wants them both to be happy.

BUT

He does see the faults in Heaven. He doesn't want to see them, he doesn't want to acknowledge it but he sees it.

Aziraphale probably really does see this as an opportunity to put both his and Crowley's ideals forward to running Heaven. He truly wants to make a difference and prove to himself that Heaven can be as good as he always thought they were.

Aziraphale loves Crowley, but he is still trying to find himself. Aziraphale still associates himself with Heaven, with God. He wants to be attached to that goodness, he isn't ready to be his own person yet as much as Crowley has always been an individual.

I think that while Aziraphale is in Heaven that he is going to come into his self. I think he's going to become more independent and less of a company man. He's going to try and leave and maybe he won't be able to. Somehow Crowley is going to have to come get him from Heaven and it truly will be Heaven and Hell against them all.

#good omens #good omens s2 #aziracrow #aziraphale #crowley #good omens spoilers #gos2spoilers #good omens theory #good omens gifs #good omens thoughts #fan theory #neil gaiman #religous trauma #michael sheen #david tennant #aziraphale and crowley

[cookinguptales]

wwdits tarot: the emperor

The second of my twinned Empress/Emperor cards. Like I said in the last post, I've already talked about Empress & Emperor a bit, but here’s the long version.

If The Sire was my Empress, the mother of my deck — well then, The Baron has got to be the father.

Let’s get into IV. The Emperor.

It was always clear to me that the parents of this deck would be The Sire and The Baron. I went into my logic for how to separate out the two a bit last time, but now I’ll take some time to talk about The Baron as father and leader.

So The Emperor is often known fondly as the father card, of a sort, of the deck. This doesn’t have to be literal; it’s enough to have someone functioning as paternal. Like The Empress, gender matters less here than behavior.

The Baron, for all that he’s, well, barren, is the closest thing to a parent that our group of idiots currently possesses. While high off their asses on drug blood, our vampires declared that they would be his children in sentiment if not blood.

(This is complicated, I’ll admit, by the fact that Laszlo and Nadja are constantly having sex with him, but like. I’m not here to ask them to explain their daddy issues.)

I love it, actually, that The Baron’s function in the show has become “that weird uncle that will go on weird adventures with you but also officiate your wedding.” Or maybe that’s just what fatherhood is to three vampires who aren’t all that good at it.

Just being parental isn’t enough to make The Baron The Emperor, though. What differentiates him from The Sire is that The Baron is a ruler, and he is used to his decrees being obeyed.

The Emperor is a card of paternal leanings, but it’s also a card that indicates a sense of law, order, wisdom, and authority. This is an elder card, one that’s seen quite a bit of life and is now the wiser for it.

The Baron has such a sense of age to him, doesn’t he? At the beginning of the series, he wasn’t just a threat; he was a symbol of the old ways. And while he’s come to modernize himself a little, The Baron still occasionally clings to the past. He believes in vampiric dominion and the fierce power of deadly force. There’s a reason why they were so scared of him in season 1.

But... he's also really come to like the modern world as well. He's happy to learn about this world that he's secluded himself from for all these years, and while he and The Sire still seem to be homebodies, they're also learning to use technology, new languages, new clothing, etc.

So you’ve got this character who is used to taking power by force, who wears his age like a cloak, but who is ultimately willing to learn from his children in turn. And as he does, the ravages of time have fallen away from him. He even looks like his old self.

I think this really is where the wisdom comes in; he’s knowledgeable of the old ways but is open enough to accept the benefits of the new ones as well. He still exerts authority over other vampires, if admittedly in a far more chill way, but also a sense of guidance. They listen to him and care about his opinion — and he sees their troubles far more clearly than others do.

(Yes, Nandor. He sees exactly how this marriage is going to go. But he’ll still give you away.)

Like many old-school vampires, The Baron was very concerned with status, power, and authority — like any good Emperor would be — but he’s mellowed in recent years, much like a father who has discovered marijuana in his twilight years.

This is why I ultimately chose The Baron for The Emperor. He symbolizes all of the fierce, stern aspects of the card — the authority, the power, the adherence to old rules and power structures, the willingness to spill blood to protect his dominion. But he also has the card's gentler side. The wisdom to dispense guidance and advice to those who need it. The somewhat exasperated affection he has for his children.

The Baron is firm when necessary, but can also be very easy-going when it benefits him. And hey. History has seen worse emperors.

Now, onto the imagery.

Like I mentioned before, I am terrible romantic and I would twin these cards. The Sire in his wasteland of blood and old dead trees is facing to the left. And in his throne, The Baron will be facing to the right. Like The Sire, he will be raising a chalice of his own blood (which runs through Laszlo and Nadja) to toast his roommate and companion.

they're. in. love.

What of the rest of the card, though? In the Rider-Smith-Waite card, The Emperor sits upon a stone throne. It is carved with rams, symbolic of his astrological connection with Aries and Mars, and he is draped with a red cloak and shining armor. That symbolizes his strength and ability to go to war — but the ankh scepter he holds in his right hand also symbolizes his dominion over life, the orb in his left his dominion over kingdom. Behind him, stark mountains are in the background, indicative of his stern and immovable character.

I think, like The Sire, I would put The Baron in one of the comfortable chairs from their “airbnb”, and like The Sire, he would be toasting with his chalice. But beyond that, the cards will be a bit different.

The Baron is still resplendent in his red robes, but both his globe and ankh lay forgotten at his feet, left discarded along with pieces of his armor. He still possesses them should he desire to pick them up again, but his priorities have shifted in recent years. He is no longer interested in dominion over life; he just wants to live it with those around him — and he has become willing to let his own armor, his emotional defenses, drop in order to achieve that.

Behind him, there are still craggy mountains with a river of blood snaking its way through them; like The Sire, his blood has trickled into every corner of the world. Black Peter can even have a little cameo in those mountains as a nod to the rams on the RSW card.

Finally, like The Emperor, his expression should be stern, I think… but there should still be a ghost of a smile about those lips.

wwdits tarot masterpost

#wwdits meta #wwdits #wwdits tarot

[cuteconsortboys]

Um, ok. Angst coming up

We might not have to decide if things escalate to some point... he might experience a miscarriage due to all the stress and pressure put on him. I mean if we are talking about him carrying the FIRST female child than I'd imagine he would be thinking his little mistake of puking a pregnancy control pill because he wasn't used to it affecting whole empire's future along with it's ruler.

Also I'm the anon who mentioned man can have false positive pregnancy result as a sign of testicular cancer with Itachi a long time ago<3 so we can go with that route too.

Oooh haha, I remember you well from the Neji post anon! You certainly like to bring the angst 😉

Warnings for this obviously!

Yeah, I mean, Haku is going to be under some serious stress in this scenario.

He's got hundreds of lessons to take, a new home, a whole team of new people around him, some of which are treating him coldly, a new wife, he's pregnant for the first time, people are accusing him of being unfaithful, calling him horrible names, talking down about him because of where he comes from, trying to get his baby classed as illegitimate, and he can't even eat anything without being terrified that someone has put something in it to force a miscarriage.

That's a lot.

So, one night, he wakes up to blood everywhere. He had been spending most nights in the empress's bedroom because of the stress and paranoia he'd been feeling so she notices immediately.

He's sort of shocked into silence. He can't feel anything. Even as the empress calls a doctor and servants to change the sheets, Haku just doesn't feel anything.

The doctor tells him the news but... he's just so tired. How can he feel right now? Is he going to be ousted from the harem now? Or will people actually accept him now? He feels shame for thinking about these things when he should be focused on the miscarriage, but his mind is just obsessed with figuring out how things will change now.

And he's kind of right. The other men of the harem no longer treat him coldly, they are kind to him out of pity.

The advisors and nobles are still bitter about his place in the harem but he is no longer at risk of gaining any power and they comfort themselves by spreading rumours about his inability to carry to term as though they weren't a huge reason for it.

Haku feels strange about the whole situation. He doesn't feel like he has time to grieve. In fact, the grief only hits him when the first baby of the harem is born, maybe to someone like Naruto who is happy to let everyone, including Haku, have a go at holding them. And even though it's more than a year later, that's when the sadness hits.

It's a really tough situation for him, and it would take a few years before he could say the whole thing was worth leaving his old life behind.

I think he'd benefit most from a very small harem in this situation. If the empress is able to give him lots of attention without pissing anyone else off, he would probably recover faster and feel more comfortable.

(That was so much rambling, but hopefully my point came across in there somewhere lmao 😅)

#tw miscarriage #haku #asks #empress au #consort au #fem reader #fem!reader #hcs #haku x reader

[siacatgirl]

Okay, so here's a change of pace for me. I decided to tap a bit into my old fanfic roots and write down some thoughts for my MC Jessica to giver her something more concrete to work with. Sort of a stream-of-consciousness drabble... with a slight twist.

I hope you find it enjoyable.

The rhythmic creak of wooden boards under my boots feels almost welcoming. Like being greeted by an old friend. It’s a strange feeling.

But not at all wrong.

When did these harsh bricks, grey and cold like an overcast sky, start to seem so inviting? Since when have I started glimpsing ghostly sparkles of recognition from the ghoulish features all around me, prickly edges of their painted forms rising to form the faintest of smiles at the sight of me? Then again, they don’t have to try so hard. Everything above this underground prison (I can barely make myself call it a basement at this point) emanates such sterile emptiness that a mere attempt at calling it a clinic would make inhaling a noseful of chemicals less stomach-churning in comparison.

I almost miss Misty hovering somewhere just behind my ear. Her presence always gives me peace of mind that these shapeless forces at the corner of my vision, be they friend or foe, are indeed there. Now I have to keep myself from second-guessing whether I indeed saw something, or only what I wanted to see.

Maybe Sasha’s more down-to-earth nature will do me some good.

I almost snicker internally at this practiced ease with which I tell Reese that his mom is just looking out for him, that it’s her overprotectiveness talking and not her simply being a controlling matriarch. The better part of me, the one that wants to be more like Pastor Daniel, that honestly believes most people are good deep down inside, it tries to give her the benefit of the doubt, that the Doc is but a single mother doing her best under the weight of crushing circumstances with what little information and illusion of choice she has.

And then I remember the contents of her journal and I reconsider.

Briefly my eyes overlap the rigid, dare I say scientific illustrations of castor beans with the doughy faces in Reese’s sketchbook, and I have to blink to make them go away. Thankfully, nobody noticed, being more focused on the topic of possible impending doom for the town. The pencil lines did remind me, though, that I still need to suggest posing for a sketch sometime. My heart briefly fills with the warmth of his fingertips on my cheek and the light of his eyes in this dimly lit coffin, but then sinks to the ground with the crack of a broken pencil. Such a shame it won’t see the light of day…

Wayne, I will never forgive you for ruining the moment. Ever.

The mute whispers from his paintings are still there, though, at some unseen corner in the back of my mind. Once more I yearn for Misty’s presence to envelop these silent sounds into something more concrete to wrap around. The hum is deafening. Sasha does a well-enough job at steering my wandering mind away by giving me a white mug to mentally “slap these bad boys on”, as she puts it, but my eyes are still within a dim haze as I gingerly poke my finger at one of the smaller paintings. It feels disappointingly solid. What was I expecting? That the miasma would swallow my hand with a wet gurgle of paint for the eager Smear to bite at my finger?

No way. The brush won’t let them. The strokes will keep them caged from our realm until the times comes. These tortured, anguished screams of a caged being, given form. Its calls have always been there, lying in plain sight. All you need to do is look around. It will never cease its attempts to be heard, to break through the bars, to make its presence known. Even now, as Reese stretches the skin of his arm to show off its elasticity, it’s still there, squirming with an itch deep within the muscles, prodding with its claws for an exit.

Doctor Kelly’s commanding voice rolls down from upstairs, cutting the reunion short. The dinner is about to begin, and with it, the daily dose of poison. The gall of this woman. Right in front of us! But all that would come out of beating it day after day after day is making it angrier. More bloodthirsty. Then no amount of tranquilizers will save you from him giving up his humanity for a chance at freedom.

My eyes follow the mural by the basement stairs as I climb up behind Stella and Kaneeka. In a matter of time, Reese will follow its story.

The beast won’t have it any other way.

But a Shadow need not be a malevolent force of nature. It can be a powerful ally, should you learn to accept it. I know you can. You still have that chance.

You may look like a monster, but you don’t have to be one.

#scarlet hollow #scarlet hollow mc #scarlet hollow spoilers #i can also drop it over at ao3 if you'd like #my writing

[coffeeviolinist]

As anyone who's read any of my posts will know, Akam is my favorite ship in the Detective Conan fandom. It's also one of my only ships, not because I have anything against other ships in general, but because it takes a lot for me to get invested in romantic pairings anyway.

(I do like Shinran, though, and Hirorei is cute as well, not to mention tragic because of how that story ended. But that's a post for another time.)

Anyway, since it's the month of Valentine's Day and all that, I figured I would write a post explaining why this ship appeals to me so much. Is it necessary? Probably not. Am I going to do it anyway? Yep.

The first reason is that I love a good enemies-to-lovers story. Two characters who hate each other (well, I don't think Akai hates Rei, but you get the point) slowly learning to tolerate each other's presence, becoming friends and then falling in love with each other sets the stage for some incredible angst and drama. And the fact that the biggest driving force behind Rei's hatred for Akai is based on a misunderstanding (that might not quite be the word I'm looking for, but whatever) just makes it even better. It's incredible how Akai is willing to bear the brunt of Rei's anger just so Rei doesn't have to live with the knowledge that he's the reason Scotch is dead. I honestly feel like the fact that he's kept it to himself for so long is proof that he cares for Rei. Akai could easily have told him the truth, and to be quite honest, he doesn't benefit at all by keeping it a secret from him. If anything, telling Rei what actually happened would probably be more beneficial since it might get him off his back. The only reason he's chosen to stay silent is to protect Rei.

Another reason is that Akai and Rei have a lot of potential to be able to help each other heal from everything they've been through in their lives. Their conflict is such an integral part of their stories that I feel like there has to be a resolution of some sort eventually, and when that happens, the idea of them becoming each other's support system is just perfection. Personally, I think they would understand each other better than anyone else in their lives. Not just because they've known each other for years, but because they've both experienced firsthand just how tragic life can be. Rei had to watch as all of his friends from the police academy died one by one and he couldn't do anything to save them. Akai's father disappeared from his life when he was fifteen and is most likely dead, and the woman he loved and was planning to have a future with was murdered by Gin. On top of that, there's almost no one else in their lives who would understand just how terrible the Organization is. Everyone else knows they're a threat, sure, but Akai and Rei were both inside the Organization for years (and in Rei's case, he's still there), and they know firsthand exactly how cruel they're willing to be in order to achieve their goals. And since they both had covers to maintain, they've almost definitely had to directly commit their fair share of immoral acts. The only other person who would understand the Organization as well as Akai and Rei is Sherry, but personally I'm not considering her as a potential partner for either of them.

Third, I just love the idea of them being each other's safe space. There's something incredible about two people as dark as Akai and Rei finding comfort in each other. Both of them are incredibly tragic people, and to be honest, neither of them is a good person, at least not in the way that most of us would consider someone to be a good person. They're not irredeemably evil like Gin, Vodka, and Rum, and ultimately everything they do is for the right cause, but they're both willing and able to do some pretty terrible things to achieve said goals. Neither of them is particularly affectionate, so the idea of the two of them finding security and warmth with each other becomes even more special. And as I mentioned earlier, they would understand each other better than anyone, so they would be able to provide genuine comfort for each other. It would be a perfect case of "We've both been through hell, and no, it's not okay, and our lives have been pretty terrible all things considered, but I've got you and you've got me, and we're going to figure this out together."

Also, they would walk Haro together, and honestly I think that's beautiful.

Well, thanks for letting me ramble, everyone :)

#detective conan #meitantei conan #akai shuichi #amuro tooru #rei furuya #akam #rambling #furuya rei x akai shuuichi #miyano shiho