#because i love you but I've never loved you the way that you needed me to

[ceesimz]

We're All We Need Today

Hey, long time no story! I'm back with this, something I had the idea for a long time ago but it was low on my list of favourites. Then I re-jigged it and re-worked it and now it's done! Everybody's favourite trope, or mine at least, angst to fluff. It's been a while since I last posted and I find myself riddled with nerves about posting stories again now, so (and I never do this because I cringe at myself) if you do like this story, please let me know in whatever way suits you because I'm seriously struggling with writer's anxiety right now and I don't have the foggiest idea how to get out of it😅

It should have been just a normal Tuesday. A normal evening on a random day mid-week in May. Training for you both that ended just after lunchtime, before meeting up at Alexia's apartment early evening after the pair of you attended meetings or completed other pieces of work. That all went smoothly, it was perfectly fine.

Alexia shouldn't have looked at your phone without your permission though. She shouldn't have looked at your messages in the first place, nevermind doing it behind your back.

"I cannot believe you told your friends and did not tell me first!" Alexia shouted at you as soon as you walked out of the bathroom, your phone opened onto your friend groupchat in her hand.

"What? Alexia, what are you doing? Are you looking through my phone?" You cried out, marching over to snatch it back, but she holds it in the air out of your reach like a high school bully. "What the hell do you think you're doing!?"

"You told your friends without conferring with me first. You went behind my back and you know I didn't want anyone knowing!"

"You've gone behind my back too, looking through my phone! Why did you do that?" You jumped and grabbed your phone, confirming exactly what you thought.

She had gone through your phone whilst you were out the room, had clicked onto a chat with your closest friends who you trusted more than almost everyone in your life, and she had read just one message that said 'What does your weekend look like in sunny Barcelona? Any plans with A?'

"No, no. You aren't flipping this around. You swore to me-" She jabbed her finger harshly against your chest as she spoke. "-that you would not tell anyone until I said you could."

Is she for real right now? Who are you even talking to?

This is not the woman you fell in love with almost seven months ago. This is not the woman who used her captaincy as an excuse to get your number. This is not the woman who asked to be your girlfriend in such a shy and awkward manner as she stumbled over her words whilst eating dinner with you on her sofa. This definitely isn't the woman who cares for you how no one else has, nor is this the woman who loves you infinitely and shows it in ways you never could have thought possible.

This is a selfish, egotistical, self-centred, and downright cold-hearted person you do not recognise. The version of Alexia in front of you here is one you thought you'd never, ever encounter. Yet, look at the situation now.

"So, what, I have to run everything by you? I can't tell my closest friends possibly the biggest detail in my life? I can't tell them I'm in love and happier than ever?"

"No. Not now. We promised we wouldn't tell anyone, and you have betrayed me." Alexia huffed angrily, her hands on her hips as she turned away from you.

"I wanted to share this part of my li- you, with them! And, Ale, you've told Alba and Eli, why can't I tell my friends?" You moved to stand in front of her so you're facing her again, and she fixed you a disapproving glare with a jut to her jaw.

"Friends are different to family - I've never met these people! What are their intentions? I don't know, and I don't want them knowing private facts about me. That is why I'm mad." Alexia gritted her teeth as she spoke, fury swimming through her veins as her hands gripped her own hips so tightly you were sure there'd be bruises the next time she looked.

"What are you even saying? Do you hear yourself right now?" You scoffed, your anger almost tripling when the woman in front of you chuckled.

"Trust me, I hear myself. I also hear you denying everything, denying the fact you've outed our relationship, denying the fact you've broke my trust. Betrayed the one thing I asked you to promise not to do. Maybe you're the one who needs their ears checking, remember when I said 'let's wait some time to tell people.' Maybe you misheard me and thought I said 'how about we tell every fucking person in the city?' So yes, I hear myself. Very clearly, you don't have to worry about that."

You stared, glared, at her for a few moments, gobsmacked at the turn of events whilst also trying not to burst into tears. This is a situation you never thought would occur between you both, and the vile way she spoke to you paired with her foul accusations had you slipping on your shoes and leaving her apartment. And, possibly the worst part of it all? She didn't even try to stop you.

Why was it always about her, about what she wants, always on her terms?

What about your opinion? She didn't care to hear you out, and it sounds like she doesn't give two flying fucks what you've got to say. Alexia Putellas and her dense head coming into play again, only caring about herself and her legacy and what people say about her. You'd think that as someone who, to the public, seems so very secure and content in her position as the best women's player still in the game, that she wouldn't be so worrisome and out-right vile if there was a chance something wasn't going her way.

No, she wasn't like that with you at least, not at all. You hadn't been together long, but the secrecy and, what you inferred now as shame, seeped into your mind and with each step as you walked home that day, you grew more and more, not only utterly infuriated, but overwhelmingly perturbed at the prospect of just... everything.

Perhaps your whole relationship had merely been a fluke. Something Alexia didn't take serious in the slightest, and nowhere near serious enough for you to tell people about it. Maybe, at the end of the day, you were too much for her to deal with, and the only way the Catalan could cope was by keeping you behind closed doors. The theories your mind was coming up made you sick to the pit of your stomach, and it was a miracle that you made it to the bathroom of your apartment by the time you were emptying the contents of your body.

There was some kind of higher power watching over you, because this whole fiasco had occurred when there were two days off afterwards. It was coming up to the tail end of the season, and as the latter half of the month was jam-packed with tense games, you had planned to make the most of the time off. With a few social events scattered across the two days, you had been greatly looking forward to spending time with your teammates outside of the pitch, your friends, and at the time most importantly, Alexia. That all didn't seem enticing anymore, nor did it even seem possible.

For the time being though, as you stumbled your way out of the bathroom and fell into bed, the breakfast catch-ups and evening dinners were the last things on your mind. The only way you wanted to spend your time off, was wallowing in a trench of self-pity.

And that's how you found yourself in the gym of your apartment complex some fourty hours later.

Jab, jab, hook. Jab, jab, hook. Right hook, then a left uppercut, and another right hook to follow.

Punch after punch after punch after punch. There was no stopping you in this mindset. Not with the things your head was chanting, Alexia's words circling endlessly around your mind. They were what fuelled you right now, allowing you to lay into the punching bag before you with no second thought to the consequences.

And those consequences were sure to bring you a lot of pain later, in your hands that weren't wrapped up like they should, nevermind wearing gloves.

There was music playing through the earphones you had in, but for the life of you, you couldn't even register it right now. Your vision was blurred by pure rage, failing to recognise the cuts forming with every unrestrained punch and the bruises beginning to form along the bumps of each knuckle. You had tunnel vision on one thing and one thing only, and that was trying to dispel yourself of the all-consuming anger that had plagued you for almost two days now.

"Amiga! Basta, basta, hey." A soft voice broke through your trance as your earphones were delicately tugged from your ears. "Hey, you hear me?"

As your hands were gently taken ahold of by the figure to your right, you took a deep breath and leaned forward to rest your forehead against the bag. It was now that the woman beside you realised just how poor your breathing was, and she brought one of her hands to rub caringly up and down your back.

"Más despacio, relájate. Tómatelo con calma, vale? Relájate." Her voice soothed you a little, giving you the peace of mind you needed to set your breathing back to normal. "Are you with me?"

At that, you nod and take some more breaths before leaning up and taking in the person beside you. It was Mariona, who you shared the same apartment complex with, a fact you had forgotten about. In this moment, you weren't sure if you were thankful for that fact or if you resented it.

"Yes, with you." You wiped your face on the sleeve of your shirt before properly looking at her.

"Are you okay?" Mariona knew it probably wasn't the wisest thing to say, but for the moment as she collected her thoughts and did an internal assessment of the situation, it was more of a buffer than anything.

"Um, I guess there's no point lying, is there." You state flatly, the Spaniard smiling sadly at you and shaking her head. "Things aren't great... right now, so."

"Okay. That's okay." Mariona's smile was perhaps the brightest thing you'd seen, and with her looking at you the way she was, with so much care and a major lack of judgement, it was hard to reject the help she was soon to offer.

"Will you let me take care of you? I have a first aid kit in my apartment that I can use for these." She gestured down to your bruised and battered hands that were growing more painful by the second. "We can talk if you want, or you can at least let me patch you up and I can call somebody else. It's up to you."

You thought you knew what you wanted, and it wasn't this, but now that the offer is glaringly right in your face, your inner monologue urged you to fall to your knees and beg for assistance, for someone to scoop up all the negativity in your mind and lift the weight of it from your shoulders.

Isolating yourself from everyone, as you had done in the last days, wasn't healthy in the slightest, and rationally you knew the excuses you gave for doing so were completely unwarranted. Yes, you were the newest signing, and yes, Alexia was the captain and the glue of the team. However, that did not lessen your worth, you still deserved your spot on the team and you deserved to be treated with humanity. As Mariona had shown in the span of a few moments, your teammates wouldn't pick sides depending on how long you had and hadn't known people, and they certainly wouldn't treat you any less just because you had fallen out with - foregoing her team title - your girlfriend.

You were only human after all.

"I would appreciate that, thank you, Mariona."

Once more, the forward smiled politely at you and nodded, moving to wait at the door to the gym to wait for you as you collected up your things. Each movement of your hands had you grimacing in discomfort, a fact not lost on Mariona as she took the items, like your water bottle and your jumper, from you just to take the edge off a little.

You weren't too close with Mariona, you had gravitated towards the likes of Ingrid and Fridolina and Aitana when you joined (and Alexia, of course), but at the end of the day she was still your teammate and you often found yourself in a group with her in training since you were also a forward. The 28 year old was a hard-worker, yet she was also one of the most laid-back people you'd ever met, so in her presence it was hard not to allow yourself to relax even just a tiny bit. The aura that radiated off of her was oddly settling, and as you both made your way up to her apartment in relative silence, you were offered your first slice of serenity since that day not too long ago.

"Would you like a shower first? You look like you worked yourself hard in there." Mariona offered as she closed the door of her apartment behind you.

"No, it's okay, thanks." You gave her an awkward, tight-lipped smile, feeling somewhat embarrassed at having been caught in such a vulnerable moment - a moment when you were filled with such rage and negativity, that all you could do was lay into a harmless object like a woman possessed.

"Alright. Sit down at the counter, I will get all I need and be with you in a second."

With a sheepish nod, you complied and sat at the island counter in the kitchen, taking a moment to compose yourself before you knew an emotionally charged conversation was about to take place. You were tempted to take Mariona up on her offer to call somebody else, but honestly you were already exhausted and just wanted to get this whole situation off of your chest.

You'd been lugging it around for days now, encumbered by the weight of anger that, as time went on, was bleeding into exasperation and disconcertion because, in all honesty, you just wanted your girlfriend back. That was a little difficult though, because the woman in question was still being as cold as ever and for the life of you, you couldn't get a good read on her to figure out what her stand was on it all now. Whether she'd confided in Mapi or Irene or her sister or even Mariona, you had no idea, you just hoped there was still an ounce of her that cared for you in just a sliver of the way you did for her.

Though you hadn't seen or heard from her since that evening, her actions and her words were still fresh on your mind, and no matter how much time you spent mentally going through each doing of hers, it all made zero sense. In no way shape or form had Alexia portrayed such viciousness towards you, nor had she ever been so horrible and completely unfair in the time you had known her. Maybe it was a case of only knowing her for a short-ish amount of time, but her behaviour seemed so out of character that it set a feeling of uneasiness in your chest.

Hopefully, bumping into Mariona, someone who had been good friends with Alexia for a long time, would give you some insight into why the Barcelona captain had acted in such ways.

"Here we go. I'm sorry if I hurt you, but it is unfortunately a necessary evil in this case." Mariona purses her lips forgivingly as she pulls out two alcohol wipes that already have you wincing at the thought. "Are you ready?"

"Yep, just get it done with. Please."

You hold your breath as she rips open one of the packets, then you watch on as she takes hold of your left hand first and lightly runs it over and in between each knuckle. It hurts a hell of a lot, sure it does, but with the tenderness that the Spaniard treats you with, all you can focus on is trying not to burst into tears at the kindness you're faced with. Your mind has been anything but towards you, and the last proper human interaction you had that had been longer than a few brief minutes was your intense argument with Alexia. So this moment here was overwhelming, in many more ways than one.

"That's one done, your right hand looks a bit worse. Am I okay to carry on?"

Honestly, why couldn't you have fallen for someone like Mariona, instead of the ignorant, hot-headed woman you were in love with?

"Yeah, it's fine."

The silence between you both is weirdly not unsettling or awkward at all, instead it's relatively comforting and for the first time in days, your skin isn't crawling at the fact you're left alone with nothing but the sound of your endless cycle of thoughts.

The Spaniard standing beside you was correct, your right hand was indeed slightly worse off than your left, and that was only made more clear with each brush of the wipe, clearing away the blood only to show cuts in the divots of your knuckles and bruises covering the entirety of the right end of your hand.

"You have a good punch on you, ever thought about boxing instead of football?" Mariona joked, trying to uplift the heavy atmosphere in the room.

"No, wouldn't want to mess up this face." You replied, the forward laughing quietly and nodding.

"You are right, and football is much more easy to watch."

You supplied her with an agreeing smile, trying to hide your discomfort as she moved your hands around to assess the damage and make a plan of action.

"Okay, I think I will apply some antiseptic cream for your cuts and wrap them up with bandages. Then I will give you an ice pack for each hand, does that sound alright?"

"That's perfect, Mariona, thank you." You smile gratefully at her, and thought it's not a genuine smile, you hope she understands the appreciation you hold for her.

"It is not a problem. We look after each other at Barça, sabes? Anything you need, please do not be afraid of reaching out. To any of us."

And there is her segue into striking up the conversation you'd both danced around since she saw you.

You had to give it to her, she let a few moments pass by so it could come across as a bit less obvious, but nevertheless it happened just as you had expected.

"Are you comfortable talking to me about what happened in the gym?" She took note of the hesitation you greeted that question with, so she put the tube of cream down and faced you fully. "That was a bit concerning to walk in on, and I wouldn't be at peace with myself if I let you out of here without checking in on you."

"I... I guess, yeah." You sighed.

"Thank you. How would you like to start?" Mariona wondered with her ever-present smile, pairing it with a nonchalant shrug, further evidence of her care-free nature that continued to draw you in. "You can start talking about what is on your mind, or I can ask some leading questions to help. I am fine with anything, I just want you to leave here feeling a bit better."

Mariona had asked you a few moments ago if you had ever thought about boxing. Now, you wanted to ask her if she'd ever considered being a psychologist.

"I think it would help if you asked some questions, maybe." You decided, and she nodded instantly. She grabbed the tube of cream again and started applying it at the same time she uttered her first query.

"Do you normally practice on the bag without gloves on?" It was a very light one to start off with, perhaps something to be grateful for, but despite feeling a little calmer now, your mind was still in turmoil and wasn't fully recovered yet.

"No, I always wrap them up. I didn't even plan on using the bag today, it just... I was on the treadmill and then I saw it and wanted to use it. I wasn't really thinking straight, so. Yeah. This is the result of that." You took a sharp breath as the forward smoothed over a particularly bad cut with the antiseptic.

"Mhm. And, forgive me for this one, was it your intention to hurt yourself?"

That one took your breath a little.

"No, no, not at all. It wasn't even a thought in my head, I swear, I only wanted to get my anger out." You responded hastily, trying to convince her that you were relatively okay and that this was just a blip, and you didn't need some kind of intervention.

"Okay, thank you for being honest. I'm very glad to hear that, and I'll take your word for it." After finishing with your current hand, she squeezes it comfortingly and moves onto your other one. "Are you willing to tell me what's wrong? Why you needed to get some anger out?"

"Yeah... yeah, I am. I have to give you some context though, and I'd be really grateful if you kept it between us."

Mariona wasn't a gossip by any sorts, but as a result of the months of Alexia's words drilling into you of how nobody can know about you both, it was still an anxiety you had. Yet, the woman looking after you in such a heart-warming way was quite possibly the good samaritan you needed right now, her acts of kindness a reminder to not lose all hope with the world around you. You were well within your right to freak out in the way you had - not only were you in an entirely new city, learning a language you hadn't paid any mind to since school, but rather naively you had probably depended on Alexia more than you should have.

It was a lesson to be learnt, a mistake you wouldn't make again, though in the future even if you didn't recognise it yet, you'd look back on your time so far and wouldn't even regret it that much. After all, every moment of the past ten months had led you to the love of your life, and nothing was ever completely perfect. You would take a few bumps in the road if it meant you could end the season with a few medals around your neck and the greatest woman you'd ever met on your arm. Sure, you might not think the greatest of her right now, but you would mend it. You were sure you would. Hopefully.

"Of course, I won't tell a soul. You can tell me anything and no one will ever hear a word of it." Mariona reasurred you and though you hadn't really doubted her in the first place, you were still beyond grateful to hear that.

"So, um... Alexia and I have been in a relationship for a few months."

Yet again, Mariona continued to surprise you with how marvelous she was. Or maybe it was just an after effect of how much Alexia's words had got to you, because when the islander simply raised her eyebrows for a millisecond before nodding as you revealed your news, you're shocked at how much of a low-key reaction she gave. Whether she had an incredible poker-face or she just didn't care half as much as Alexia thought people would, your body sagged in relief at that minute response. As far as human beings go, this one right here wasn't too bad at all.

"And, for reasons I still don't understand, she was adamant that we keep it a secret. Like it was some kind of war tactic we had to keep safe. She made it out to be a make or break situation for us. But she told Eli and Alba less than a week after we made it all official, which I didn't think much of. I talked to her about it back then, wondering if it was just something she wanted to keep quiet while we were only in the dating stage, but she told me I still couldn't tell anyone. I guess because I was still relatively new here, with not many close friends and still with the mindset of trying to earn my place in the team, I agreed. Then as time went on I got a bit... annoyed with what Alexia wanted, but whenever I brought it up with her she would immediately shut the conversation down. I figured I could do it slyly, without telling her and without telling anyone any kind of intricate details of our relationship. So I took matters into my own hands."

You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose at this point, knowing it was here in the story where things got quite rocky. Mariona had finished applying the antiseptic at this point and was now getting the bandages ready, prepped with the medi-tape beside her to secure her wrapping. With each new fact you unveiled, she nodded along in understanding, completely on the same page with you. She didn't understand the actions of her friend as of yet, wondering why on earth she'd be so intensely secretive about her relationship to the point of not telling a single soul, but those were thoughts she wouldn't voice yet.

Mariona herself was in a private relationship, and she was happier than ever in it. However, it wasn't a secret. Sure, she wasn't posting photos of herself and Lia all over her social media, but if you looked close enough the facts were clearly there. Plus, pretty much everyone in her personal life and Lia's knew about the pair of them, and nobody was fussed. So why Alexia was acting in this way, she didn't have a single idea.

"I told my closest, most trusted friends that I was in a relationship, and that the name of the person I was with began with 'A'. That was genuinely all I gave. I warned them not to nag me with guesses of who it was as that would break my own personal rules, because after all I didn't want to go behind Alexia's back more than I already had. Then... Alexia went through my phone. She saw that my friends were making plans in the group chat back home, and then they wondered if I had plans with 'A' over the weekend."

"She went through your phone?" Mariona questioned, in disbelief at the invasion of privacy you'd experienced.

"Yes, she did. The text flashed up on my lock screen while I went to the bathroom, and then she just went on my phone and looked through my messages. I don't know how in depth she went, but..." You shrugged, averting your gaze to your aching hands, ultimately defeated by now; by Alexia and her stubbornness, by your own mind, and lastly by the fact you had been so suddenly caught out by one of your teammates.

It was at this point that the numbness dispelled and gave way for shame, embarrassment, and a bit of anxiety. After all, you didn't know anyone from the team in depth, you were still just getting to know them, and the first thing you had done when you arrived was dive head first into a relationship with their captain. There was an endless possibility to the vast amount of opinions each person could hold for you and how they felt about your relationship (even though there was almost no way at all they could know about it), and as the silent seconds ticked by, it started eating away at you.

Though, somehow, in some magical, god-given miraculous way, Mariona saw right through you. And from now on, you were to make it your life mission to give back to this messiah in the form of an attacking footballer from the Balearic Islands of Spain.

"Hey." She tapped on the counter in front of you to get your attention, achieving that when you look up at her. "You don't have to... to get defensive with me. I can bet what you're thinking, and you don't have to worry about all those thoughts. I am neutral here, helping a friend. I will not go and tell Alexia or anyone about this, not if you don't want me to. And trust me, I am on your side. I have never heard of her acting like this, I am shocked and slightly outraged too."

That was undeniably relieving to hear, for a number of reasons. But for the most part, you were glad to hear that because for the past few days your mind had been trying its damn hardest to manipulate you into thinking this whole commotion was your fault, that you were the fault-line in the relationship that had caused this rickety earthquake.

No, that was no longer a worry, because here was possibly the human example of sunshine saying she shared your view and was just as displeased as you when it came to the Catalan's behaviour. Now, knowing you had at least one person on your side, this obstacle felt a little easier to climb over.

"I do have one thing I'm wondering." After a curious hum from you, she explained. "Is there anything you would like me to do in this situation? Like, bring it up with Ale? Because for both of your sakes, I want this to be solved in the easiest way possible."

Was it a good idea, judging off of Alexia's already toxic reaction to the point where she refused to hear you out? Most likely, but, not only did you think Mariona could teach her a thing or two when it came to human interactions, there was a small (actually fairly large) part of you that wanted to fight back against Alexia's unfairness by showing her you simply were not one to be trampled on.

There were two people in this relationship, and in this moment you realised that rank, longevity, and status in a football team were measly things to worry about.

"I think that would be a good way to start. Having someone knock some sense into her." You answered, quietly delighted when Mariona laughed momentarily at your words.

"I will try to do exactly that, for you. Promise." For the millionth time that evening, you found yourself completely under the influence of that goddamn smile.

"You're very good at communication. Unnervingly good." The hearty laugh you got in response forced the first genuine smile out of you all evening.

"Well, when you have a very emotionally intelligent girlfriend, you have to keep up."

"If you could give Alexia some lessons, I would appreciate that a lot."

"I will talk to her. Don't worry."

You left Mariona's apartment not too long after, both hands wrapped precariously and feeling significantly better than you did during that gym incident, finding solace in the fact there was now a fairly solid plan of action.

The only thing you could do now, was wait.

That was harder said than done, because for the rest of that day you didn't hear from Mariona at all. Nor did you hear from her before training the day after, and for the first time since you arrived, you were wracked with nerves as you walked into the building.

Not once during the whole session did Alexia glance towards you. Not once did she even acknowledge your existence. It drove you crazy, her acting as if you were invisible. As if she couldn't get anymore fucking immature. It took a lot of self control to not act like a petulant child towards her, desperate to piss her off in a quarter of the way she had to you, but you were better than that.

So when she rocked up outside your apartment later that day, with freshly dyed blonde hair that was styled in a frustratingly attractive way, a bouquet of chrysanthemums in one hand and a takeaway bag in the other, it took all of your strength to not slam the door in her stupidly hot face.

"What are you doing here?" You asked flatly, followed by a sigh that clearly indicated she was the last person on earth you wanted to see right now.

Well, with that haircut, maybe not the last person...

"I have a lot of explaining to do, I know that. And a lot of grovelling too. I was hoping you didn't hate me that badly to let me in." Alexia smiled sadly down at you, a slight shrug to her shoulders when she speaks.

Your mind goes back and forth for a few moments, briefly running through pros and cons of letting her in, before you decide fuck it, worst comes to worst you can show off your new boxing skills.

Eyebrows raised, you walk away from the door back towards your sofa, leaving her to wonder what to do for a moment. Ultimately, she decides to slowly follow after you once she'd softly closed the door. A quick glance around your apartment tells her you hadn't eaten yet, and she takes that as a small win before heading towards where you were seated.

"I brought your favourite takeout. Would you like to me dish it up?" She asks, a little disheartened when you shake your head.

"If you came here to talk, we're gonna talk." You state firmly, waiting expectantly for her to come sit with you.

She should have expected this really, knowing how royally she'd screwed it up with you and how disgusting she had acted. But hearing you speak so sternly was a bit unnerving, even if Alexia did recognise she more than deserved it.

A second later, she nods and places her items down on your dining table before making her way over to you. Rightfully so, she leaves some space between you both when she sits down, and you have to stifle a laugh as to not ruin your façade with how on edge she looks.

"Uh, so, me first, or..." Staying silent, you raised a daring eyebrow at her, thoroughly enjoying putting her through this slight torture. "Sí, okay, me first."

Anxiously, she wipes her clammy palms on her thighs. Then she cleared her throat, glancing at you periodically before taking a deep breath and starting her explanation.

"I am well, well aware of how bad I have acted towards you. I want to make that clear first. I acted like an idiot, to the worst degree. I was selfish, rude, I invaded your privacy, and I completely fucked it all up."

Hm, not too bad of a start.

"Congratulations, you took responsibility!" You responded sarcastically, fighting the urge to give her a round of applause too. Then you're fighting off a bubble of laughter at the nervous chuckle she gives before speaking again.

"I will regret my actions until the day I die. I promise you, I will never behave like that ever again. I've never been more ashamed of myself in my life, and knowing it's you who I acted like that towards makes it a hundred times worth. Because, you..." She shakes her head and waves her hands in the air like she's speechless. "You're you. You're the most selfless person I know. Your heart is something I do not deserve to have, because of how pure and kind and beautiful it is. You are so caring, and you love with every fibre of your being. Not only that, but you're so open, and I really admire that, because that is something I'm not. I'm... I'm ashamed to admit that even now I'm still anxious, and being secretive is how I've lived all my life. I want to be more open and care-free, I really do, it's just... hard for me."

With each word, each compliment, and each reason she gives, your hardened exterior towards her is slowly getting chipped away. You're not a grudge holder, it's not in your nature. And no matter how much you tried to fight it, it was inexplicably hard to not get wrapped up in her.

"Mariona... Mariona said you didn't even tell your friends it was me you were with. She said you only told them my name began with A, and that was it."

Alexia trusted Mariona of course, that was something that naturally occurred having known her for so long, but she wanted to get confirmation from you.

"I did. They don't know it's you I'm with." You told her, and if it was somehow possible, Alexia's heart shattered just that bit more.

"Well, I'm sorry, amor. I'm sorry for jumping to conclusions, it was really stupid and unfair of me. I really appreciate that you didn't break my trust, like I thought you had. I... that just shows how little I valued you. And I swear, that's something you'll never have to doubt again. I value you more than anyone in my life. I have a reason for why I was... more than reluctant to tell people about us. But I don't know if you want to hear it. I don't want you to think it's some flimsy excuse."

"Well, I mean, you may as well say it now." You scoffed, watching as she gulped nervously before nodding.

"My last relationship... with Jenni. That's why I'm so worried about telling people. Because even now, years after we ended our relationship that I would never ever want to go back to, people still talk about us, comment on our posts, make edits of us, and freak out about every little fucking interaction between us. It drives me crazy, even now, when I know I should not let it get under my skin, but it does and I can't stop it."

She shrugs dismissively as she talks, eyes cast down on her hands as she fidgets with the rings on her fingers. It's clearly a topic for her that's hard to discuss, and you want to reach out and take hold of one of her hands, but you don't want to distract her.

"When I was with Jenni, I was nowhere near as 'famous' as I am now. Now, I get the most vile and intrusive articles written about me, there are always cameras on me, paparazzi trying to figure out where I am at all times, and it really worries me because I don't want to involve you in that. If the media started writing things about you that were even just half as nasty as the things they've said about me, I would never be able to live with myself. It would eat me up, amor, I don't want you to go through that."

Okay, out of all the overthinking you've done in the last three days, your mind had not mustered up this point of view. This was undeniably sweet, a stark contrast to the way she'd treated you during the argument. You'd been with Alexia long enough to be more than familiar with how she acted on her anxieties in rather unhealthy ways for herself with harmful consequences for those around her as a result. Most likely, you realised, her recent behaviour was a demonstration of that very fact.

"And though those reasons shouldn't excuse my behaviour, because I should never have acted like that, I hope it gives you a tiny bit of insight into my head and allows you to recognise my actions came from a place of love, not malice. I showed it in completely the wrong way, but I swear to you from this moment on I will treat you better than I ever have, if you let me live up to that promise."

A shaky breath leaves the woman beside you, signifying the end of her ramble. And, to be honest, you'd forgiven her long before she finished speaking.

"Thank you for opening up to me. I forgive you, I do, but I won't forget how you treated me. If you ever show even a hint of that behaviour ever again, I'm out, Alexia, you must know that." You give her a clear warning, despite the fact your heart is crying out for you to just jump right back into her arms.

"I do know, I absolutely do know that." She seems to make the leap for you, as she shuffles along the sofa and gently takes ahold of both your hands. Your wounded hands. "Amor, what... what happened?"

Her voice is filled with concern, immediately overcome with nausea as a result of the worry she feels at the sight. However, that's nothing compared to the guilt she feels when you tell her what happened.

"Oh, um... an unfortunate run in with a punching bag not too long after our argument." You reveal sheepishly.

Alexia's heart drops. It drops from her chest, to the ground, through the core of the earth, and all the way down to China.

"This... this is because of me?" She whispers the question like she's terrified to utter the words. She's even more terrified of the answer.

"I guess. Yeah. I had to get my anger out some way, and I'm sure you're glad it wasn't your face." You try to joke, but it lands flatter than a pancake.

"Amor, I..." She can't find the right words within her to even attempt to apologise.

The great thing about mental health, was that 99% of the time you couldn't see it. That meant Alexia couldn't see the psychological damage she had caused you with her words.

But this, this was concrete evidence of just how much her treatment had affected you. She had done so much damage to your self-esteem, that you had no choice but to lash out to the point of injury. That, she feared, she would never get over.

"I guess Mariona failed to mention this part to you." Another pitiful attempt to lift the mood.

"She took care of you?" Alexia asked tentatively, the tiniest bit relieved when you nod.

In a split second, her arms were wound tightly around you as she tugged you into her lap. A rush of Catalan spilled from her, of which you gathered were words of apologies and sweet nothings to convey her intense regret. You didn't catch a word, not too familiar with the language despite playing for the pride of Catalunya, but you got the gist quite quickly and it didn't take you a moment longer before your arms were wrapped around her neck.

You were flooded with relief now that you were back in her hold, the embrace finally silencing the relentless voice in your head that had been going non-stop for days now. There were tears dripping onto your neck though, something that has you furrowing your brow and urging her to lift her head up.

"Ale, what's this for?" You asked, delicately wiping some of the tears that were overflowing.

"I just... I fucked it up so bad. So bad. Dios mío, you've ended up hurting yourself because of it. I'm just so sorry. I'm so so sorry."

Alexia falls apart then, breaking out into sobs that, though it's a rather a harsh thing to admit (not that you ever would, verbally) really exemplify her guilt and regret, and tie off her apology. You hate seeing her cry, hate seeing her so ruined, but all you can do now is hug her just as tight back and hope your words provide her some comfort.

"I forgive you, Ale, I do. My hands aren't your fault, it's a result of me not being sensible when letting my anger out. It's not your fault, mi corazón, not your fault at all."

You carry on spewing words of comfort for her until her cries finally subside a few minutes later. How she rubs at her eyes is something you find adorable, the way she does so reminding you of a young child. Your own hands follow her calloused ones, treating her with the same care she had complimented you on not so long ago. It warms her heart to no end, and it offers her a little reassurance of the fact you don't hate her guts.

"It's my fault a little bit." She mumbles, and there's a speckle of humour in it that you're not hesitant to jump on.

"Maybe a tiny bit." You whisper scandalously, smiling at the tearful laugh she lets out. "But I don't resent you for it. If I did, we wouldn't be in this position right now, okay?"

"Whatever you say, amor." Alexia nods, a semi-genuine smile on her face as she leans forward to rest her forehead on your shoulder.

"There's one thing I need from you for us to move past this." You state seriously a few quiet moments after.

She lifts her head up and nods vigorously, prepared to do just about anything you asked for if it meant she could love you for the rest of her life.

"I want to be able to tell people that are important to us. My family, my friends. Your family and friends. Our teammates. I'm not asking for us to go public on social media, I'm not asking for anything like that. I just want us to be more open. I want to be able to walk around Barcelona with you, like we did together when we started out dating. Because those moments with you, where you showed me your favourite restaurants and cafes and places special to you, they're some of my favourite memories with you. I just long for us to have a normal relationship, not one kept in the safety of our apartments behind closed doors. Because it's embarrassing and... and soul destroying being treated like I'm invisible. Just... treat me like a human fucking being in training, please? In public?"

It felt rather humiliating to be begging for such normal things, but that was the exact word you would use to describe this whole thing for you. Humiliating. To be treated like you had by, arguably, the sole person who shouldn't treat you like that, was something you never wished to experience again. Because, if you did? Well, there was simply no coming back.

But, you supposed, being in love was all about taking chances on people and relationships couldn't be built without a steady foundation of trust. That's all you could do now; trust in Alexia to nurture your heart like a delicate blossom where she cherishes every petal with gentle devotion.

"I will. Mi amor, I will do that and more. I will do anything you want me to, I promise that I will change my bad habits so that you never have to suffer at my hands again. I will love you like it's the last thing I'll do. You could never be invisible to me, you never were. From the first time I saw you, in your two-sizes-too-big Barça jumper on your first day, you've been everything but invisible to me."

Finally, the nail in the coffin to this whole ridiculous thing. And man, were you glad to see the back of it.

"As long as you don't embarrass me by one-upping me with your flawless free-kicks."

Despite the push to the shoulder you give her, you giggle and pull her back in for another hug. You'd been deprived of her embrace for far too long, and you planned to make up for it.

"I can't make any promises, unfortunately." You teased, grinning into the skin of her neck as her hands splayed out over your back, rubbing up and down comfortingly.

"I think I will take that." Alexia murmured, hugging you just that bit tighter before she leaned back. She moved her hands from your back to softly cradling your face, her eyes jumping from each feature to feature, trying to commit her favourite art piece in the world to her memory. Then, she met your gaze, and the sincerity and earnest present there was breathtaking. "We'll be okay?"

It was asked in such a vulnerable tone, you couldn't help but smile down at her.

"We'll be okay, Ale."

Going into training the next day, there was a spring in your step. Alexia had stayed over at yours the previous night, near enough refusing to leave. That meant she was wearing the same trousers as the day before along with one of your sweaters that, to your amusement, was evidently slightly too small for her as the cuffs ended just shy of her wrists. Call it your revenge perhaps, but as you both arrived at training together, chatting freely with content smiles on your face, it felt like a new leaf had been turned.

Alexia had made many mistakes with you, that she knew. She also knew she had no more chances, so she was going to try her absolute hardest to never act like such a fool again, even if it killed her. However, the shy smile on your face when she bounded up to you after Jona demanded the team to get into pairs for 1-on-1 practice, was enough proof for her to realise that it wouldn't be such a shame to go out of this world as a result of your love.

She almost came to regret that though when you handed her ass to her on a plate with each of your attempts to get past her. Because, quite frankly, you did embarrass her. Crossing her sides and body-checking her and out-skilling her each time was satisfying to no end, and it was exactly what you needed really. At one point, there was an ounce of worry that perhaps Alexia would be annoyed, but that dissipated immediately when she would laugh and slap her own forehead each time she was outshone.

That tiny speck of worry was completely forgotten about when, after the last attempt of the day, Alexia ran up behind you and lifted you up off the ground with her arms around your torso. Her mouth found its way to your ear as she took a few steps whilst carrying you, squeezing you tightly once.

"Never embarrass me like that again." She murmured jokingly, fighting back a grin as you laughed unabashedly in her hold. Afterwards, she put you down and moved to walk closely beside you, heading back to the main building as Jona called the end of training.

"You're the one that partnered up with me, Ale." You nudged her in the side with your elbow, gazing up at her with an adoring look that had Alexia's heart jumping in her chest.

"Maybe, but I only have one thing to say."

"What's that?" You hummed.

"Thank god for Mariona." She murmured, smiling as you giggled and nodded.

That smile was wiped off her face when an arm flung around her shoulders not a second later.

"Thank god for who?"

"I don't need your bragging right now, Mario, you're ruining a nice moment."

"I made this nice moment happen, Ale, you better thank me properly soon."

With that, the islander left just as quickly as she had arrived. When Alexia noticed the teasing grin on your face at the interaction, she shoved at your shoulder with a grumble under her breath.

"She really got through to you, then?"

"Oh yeah, absolutely. She beat my ass."

#alexia putellas x reader #woso x reader #woso community #mariona caldentey #woso one shot #alexia putellas #woso imagine #alexia putellas one shot

[sunny44]

You have to share

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Mom!wife!reader

Warnings: none

Summary: your son thinks that Max needs to share.

I was at home, enjoying a rare moment of tranquility after a long and victorious Formula 1 season. Sitting on the living room sofa, I watched Oliver playing with his toy cars on the rug. At that moment, I caught myself thinking about how big he had gotten and how quickly time had passed. It seemed like yesterday that Y/n told me she was pregnant, and we were at the hospital watching him being born. Now he was already four years old, and I was thinking about talking to her and seeing what she thought about trying for another one.

"Daddy, can you come play with me?" Oliver asked, his voice full of enthusiasm.

"Of course, champ." I replied, smiling as I got up to sit with him on the rug.

I sat next to Oliver, picking up one of the cars. We started an improvised race, Oliver's laughter filling the room and making me laugh along with him.

Of course, he made me be myself, and he was Uncle Lando.

After a few minutes, Oliver suddenly stopped and looked at me seriously.

"Daddy, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, what's up?" I asked, surprised by the sudden change in tone.

"Why do you win all the championships? Don't you think it's a bit selfish not to share with the other drivers?"

I admit I was extremely surprised by the question. I had never thought that Oliver could see it that way.

"Why do you think that?"

"Because Mommy always says we can't be selfish, that we have to share and we can’t have everything just because we want to. But you always have the victories, and that's not fair.” he said simply, and I understood his analogy about selfishness.

"Look, Oliver, I love what I do. I love racing, and I love winning. It's something I've worked for my whole life.” I began, trying to explain.

"But, Daddy," Oliver interrupted, "if you win everything, the other drivers never get a chance to feel what it's like to be a champion. They must be really sad."

I was silent for a moment, considering my son's words. I had never thought of my victories that way, obviously, because that's not how the sport works, but I also had never thought of explaining it to him so he wouldn't think I or any other driver was selfish for winning.

"I understand what you're saying," I told him. "But Formula 1 is a competitive sport. All the drivers train hard and want to win; there's no rule that says each driver has to win once. When I win, it's because I worked hard for it. And I know the other drivers also work really hard, and when their time comes, they will win too."

Oliver frowned, thinking.

"But wouldn't it be fairer if you let the others win sometimes? That way, everyone would be happy." I smiled at him, proud that he thought that way.

"You know, Oliver, the joy of winning comes from effort and dedication. If I just let the others win, it wouldn't be fair to them either. They want to win honestly, knowing they were the best that day and not because someone let them win."

Oliver nodded slowly, understanding.

"So you win because you're the best? And they also want to win because that shows they're the best?"

"Exactly," I replied, satisfied with his understanding. "And that's what makes victory so special. Each driver has their victories, their achievements. And we all respect each other for that."

Oliver smiled, now more relieved.

"So, when I grow up and race for real, I'll train really hard to beat you!" I laughed, hugging my son.

"That's right, champ. And when that day comes, I'll be very proud of you."

After that, we continued playing with the toy cars, and about half an hour later, my wife walked through the door with her bag and a pizza box.

"Hi, my loves," she said, closing the door, and I was immediately abandoned.

"Mommy!" Oliver shouted, running to her, and she hugged him, picking him up.

"What are my two favorite boys doing?"

"We're playing Formula 1," he said excitedly, and she gave me a peck on the lips.

"Hmmm, sounds fun."

"Do you want to play with us?" He gave her those big blue puppy eyes. Y/n knows how to resist, but he always wins me over with them.

"I would love to, but I'm starving and really craving that pizza."

"You brought pizza?" he asked, excited.

"Yes, I did."

"Then what are we waiting for?" he said, starting to squirm in her arms to be put down. "I'm going to wash my hands."

And with that, he ran to the bathroom, giving me a few minutes alone with her.

"How are you?" I asked, hugging her waist as she wrapped her arms around my neck.

"Tired but good, counting the days until vacation." She kissed me again.

"Oliver asked me today if I didn't think it was selfish of me to win all the championships and not let the other drivers win too." She started laughing at that.

"Where did he get that from?" she asked, going to set up the pizza for us to eat.

"He asked because he thought it was unfair for me to win everything and because he thought the other drivers would be sad."

"Ugh, he's so cute," she said, and I agreed. "I miss when he was a baby."

"About that," then she looked at me, "I was thinking about having another one."

"Do you want another kid?"

"Yes, don't you?"

"I do, actually, I just didn't know if you wanted to."

"I would love to have another four," she laughed.

"That's not going to happen. If it were you giving birth, I'd agree, but since it's not," just then Oliver came in and sat in his chair, and I served him a slice of pizza and a glass of juice.

“Hmm I love pizza.” He said with his mouth all covered with sauce making us laugh.

After we had dinner as a family we all went to bed to watch a movie together.

Bonus scene!

Y/nverstappen instagram stories

“Daddy and Oli time. And yes, he looks exactly like his father, I was just carrying him for 9 months.”

#f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 x you #f1 #f1 instagram au #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen headcanons #max verstappen wallpaper #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen f1 #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen smut #max verstappen x you #max verstappen angst #max verstappen au #max verstappen social media au #max verstappen series #max verstappen drabble #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen masterlist #max verstappen blurb #max verstappen red bull #max verstappen instagram au #mv1 x reader #mv1 #mv33 #mv1 imagine #mv33 x reader

[disgracefulthings]

How To Redeem a Shen Jiu

A Guide By A Prolific Fanfic Reader

Option 1: Give him a transmigrator brother

Shen Jiu: Now that I've found my long lost brother I no longer need to abuse my students

Shen Yuan: You need better coping habits

Option 2: Give him a transmigrator disciple

Shen Jiu: I've never cared for a male disciple and I'm not going to start now

Disciple Shen Yuan: That's what you think old man, be prepared to get morals!

Option 3: Give him a transmigrator son

Shen Jiu: This weirdly intelligent baby has helped me see the error of my ways

Baby Shen Yuan: I'm too young to be doing this shit

Option 4: Have him be a transmigrator's son

Baby Shen Jiu: If I had better hand-eye coordination I would strangle you in your sleep

Shen Yuan: System, is it wrong to shake a baby?

Option 5: Have him take over Shen Yuan's dead body

Shen Jiu: So I get a loving family that's also rich without facing the consequences of my actions?

Ghost Shen Yuan: Hell naw, your walking my ass straight into therapy

Option 6: Have Yue Qingyuan confess

Yue Qingyuan: I came back for you

Shen Jiu, about to get his limbs torn off by Bing-ge: It would've been nice to be told this YEARS AGO!

Option 7: Have him get together with Liu Qingge

Liu Qingge: Let's have hate sex so you don't abuse your students

Shen Jiu: We definitely won't develop feelings because of this

Option 8: Kill him off and have Shen Yuan fix his problems

Shen Jiu: This is my favorite option

Shen Yuan: SPEAK FOR YOURSELF!!!

#which option do you choose? #mxtx chose option 8 #why change yourself when you can have someone else possess your body and do it for you #shen jiu #shen yuan #shen qingqiu #peerless cucumber #yue qing #yue qi #liu qingge #liujiu #mxtx #mxtx svsss #svsss #scum villian self saving system

[soracities]

I have been thirty for a few months. I never thought I'd make it, truly. I had no plans beyond twenty. I'm a high school drop out with various disabilities, I'm not conventionally 'attractive', I've never had many friends and my support network has failed me several times. And the idea of making plans, after a trail of failures and let-downs (both of myself and others), only filled me with dread. I have to take care of so much. I have my blessings, of course, but not without my own troubles. I have never been on a date, I've never been kissed even though I do want that. I've had to make the decision between bills and feeding myself. I've watched everyone around me fade away or leave. This, however, will pass. This time, in ten years, I'll have been forty for a few months. In twenty, I'll be fifty. And I can see myself being those ages. This year, I planted flowers for the first time and I've watched them grow. I've started reading after years of being told I am too stupid to understand things or that having joys won't make me successful. I've made new friends. I even repaired the strained relationship with my parents, something I never thought I'd be able to do. My life isn't going to be plastered on a big screen or be a bestseller but I don't need it to be. If I never marry or I die alone with no one, I don't think I'll regret it because I'll have myself. My thirties, I realize, are my gift to myself to know love and be loved by myself. Like I ... was the one who grew those flowers that made me happy because I know flowers make me happy, I chose to read the books I love because I know that they will make me happy, I choose to find my little joys instead of the joys others have expected of me. I'll get myself to forty, fifty, maybe even a hundred! I'll continue to give myself little joys because right now that is what is making me happy. That may change at forty! At fifty, a hundred, I don't know! I believe, however, I would like to find out ... and that is something I never would have said at twenty. I don't know if I will make it because as my farmer of a grandfather would say, "You have no idea what a year will bring." And you don't, there is no way to predict what the year, the month, or even tomorrow will bring, but you plant the seeds anyway. You plant them and take care of them as though you know they get to full ripeness and harvest. That process, I've learned for myself, is how I've found love. I just plant the seed today. I may or may not have flowers tomorrow but knowing that I may is enough for me to want to see.

.

#ask #Anonymous #i can add nothing to this anon i dont want to add anything it will just derail the beauty of everything you just wrote and truly.... #thank you for taking the time to write and share this and i wish nothing but the most beautiful and comforting moments to meet you #as you move through your thirties and beyond #i hope each year proves to be a gift to yourself from the bottom of my heart i do #the road is long and we have time

[masn-mount]

I know we're all melting at Jude with the kids but what about him melting about you with the kids!!! being like I want you to have my babies and you're like??? where did that come from

this is just a little blurb, I hope you enjoy xx (this is rushed and not proofread because I need to sleep and if I don't post it right now I'll just delete it soooo also haven't written in months so yeah, bye)

okay yes, like he would be standing around with his mum and teammates trying to focus on the conversation they were having but he couldn't tear his eyes away from you running around after Lucas Vazques' kids, making them laugh uncontrollably when you caught them or the way you'd help Dani Carvajal's son hold up the trophy, making him smile so big for thinking he was lifting it by himself and as if he wasn't feeling overwhelmed already he swore his heart could have burst when you later went over to him to say bye with one of his teammates not even one year old clutching on to you. Small arms around your neck, her little head resting against your shoulder and you just looked so natural with it and it drives him a little mental and after he's kissed you and you leave he can't get that image out of his head even with the amount of drinks in his system by then. When he gets home hours later he's trying to make as little noise as possible, not wanting to wake you or anyone else in the house up and he's not expecting to walk into your shared bedroom and see you sitting up in bed, phone in hand no doubt scrolling on Tiktok. "You're going to feel beyond terrible tomorrow," is what you say when he falls on the bed, he lays still for a second before he starts moving around so he can lay closer to you, head resting on your stomach. Your fingers go to scratch the back of his head and after a few moments of complete silence you almost think he's fallen asleep until he lifts his head so he can look up at you, eyes so pretty and glossy and you smile at him before running your thumb over his pouted lip. "You okay?"

"I want you, want you to," he kept mumbling the words over and over, you found it a little amusing how he had gone from this overly confident man you had seen all over your X and Tiktok feed hours prior to this shy boy laying next to you.

"Want me to what?"

"Have babies with me." You were unsure on how to respond, it was probably the last thing you'd expect him to say so you just sat back, raised your eyebrows at him, a giggle escaping past your lips at how he was nodding his head while repeatedly mumbling "yes, I want that".

"You do, yeah?"

"So bad."

"Okay, how about we go sleep?"

"No, I've jus-, just keep thinking about you with the kids today and I, I want us to have that," he sounded so sure you could have almost forgotten that he was drunk out of his mind.

"I thought you didn't want kids?" You teased, fingers running over his cheeks, still trying to get used to his completely bare face. Your future together was often a topic of discussion but kids had never been apart of the conversation until this moment and you weren't going to pretend like seeing him be so good with all of his teammates kids hadn't sent your mind in a frenzy.

"I never said I didn't want them with you."

"Okay."

"Yeah? we should try...right now."

"Okay, calm down, silly." You tried to keep your voice down but couldn't hold in your laughter over how fast he was trying to get undressed before laying over you, lips moving over your chest and up your neck. "Hey, don't laugh...trying to love on you, baby," but when you didn't stop, instead hiding your face away from him and in your pillow, unable to take him seriously Jude got the hind and laid back down, content for the moment with just holding your hand.. "I love you...mucho."

"I love you mucho too, Jude," you smiled, leaning up and capturing his lips with yours for a moment before pulling back.

"I get to come home to you, so lucky..so lucky you're going to be the mum to my babies."

"Go to sleep, handsome."

"We'll try tomorrow."

#ok I got this request so wrote this in like 20 #hehe #sorry it's so rushed #I got another fic in the work hopefully I won't give up on it #love you #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham fanfic #football imagine #football fanfic #my writing

[undercoverpena]

15. raspberry truffle

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter fifteen of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.1k chapter warnings: smut. 18+. jo's mirror love resurfaces and armchairs are used as more than things sat behind desks. lots of mouth to mouth resus. smut. also there's smut. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. an: I've had this image in my head for so long...

prev chapter | series masterlist

“Do you trust me?”

It's a simple question. One he’s asked you time and time before, but never with the current look in his eye he’s currently wearing.

Dressed in a tight grey tee and a pair of black sweats. Hatless, teased curls frame his face as you rest against your counter. The one you’ve seen for the first time in some days.

It strikes you that the only reason you're standing in your home, to begin with, is because of the email informing you that some of your new furniture had been dispatched.

His mouth had been sealed to your neck, fingers grasping at your waist as you read it out, distracted, attention not entirely focused on him until his hand snaked between your legs, in his sheets, in his bed—the one you’d now found to be far more comfortable than your own—as he whispered, I can build it for you.

And, he did. Had done.

Putting his tool on the side as he rejoins you. A nominal irk bubbling through you that the toolbox it lives in is one foot away, it vanishing when he steps closer, presses you further against it. Cool, firmness meets your spine as his body corners you.

He looms in a way that makes your heart double as you wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him. Deeply.

“Should I trust you, handsome?”

Snorting, his laugh fluttering over your lips. “I think you should.”

Lips pursing, narrowing your eyes teasingly, you feel his thumb sliding the fabric of your top up and down your hip bone.

“You are biased though.” His head lolls from side to side as he hums, fingers pinching at the bottom of your top. “Do you think I should because you built my chair?”

As soon as he slides his arm around your waist, your back arches. Chest desperate to be flush. Heart aching to be near to his.

“No. Because you love me.”

Sighing, nodding—all playful. A smirk just there, all beneath the surface. “Oh. That thing.”

Tracing his nose against yours, a smile trying to beam, but he mirrors how you hold back. “That thing.”

When he’s close like this, it’s almost criminal when you’re not kissing him. When you’ve not slanted your mouth against his soft lips, felt the roughness of the hair on his face against your palm, buried your fingers into his curls and pulled a little to earn that groan he does. The one, if it were a thing that could be possible, you’d love etched into your brain.

The thought of which makes you want to peel your clothes off.

Already so hungry for a thing you’ve been feasting at a buffet for the last number of days. Yet, still wanting, still needing.

“You really play a long game,” you say, more sweet. And his nose scrunches, frowning as you smirk. “Waiting this long, getting me to fall in love with you, and then killing me in my own office.”

“Oh yeah, I’m a mastermind.”

Laughing, you twirl a curl around your finger, finding the hair a little longer. “Okay,” you reply, sealing it to his lips, “I trust you—you get my blood on my new chair you’ve just built, I’m going to haunt you.”

“It’s not a punishment that you’d want to spend the rest of your days haunting me, Rainy.”

His hips dip, becoming aware of the effect you have on him too as his growing bulge rubs against your parted thighs. A moan escapes, body jolting at the welcome friction. The sound leaves so softly, barely loud enough to disrupt his mouth from being on yours.

But it does.

“Do you trust me?”

The four words repeated, answered hurriedly. No game, no tease.

His mouth comes close to your ear, a chaste kiss left along your hairline as his hand clutches your waist for stability, and you forget how to breathe.

“Close your eyes, baby.”

As you do, his fingers, clean and soft, all but sawdust stained, slide over your eyes—his chest to your back as he leads you down a familiar path that suddenly feels foreign. Trusting.

Your nose tunes in. Takes in the scent that is equivocally just him, one you’re thankful has begun seeping into your home as much as he has your heart. Hearing him whisper instructions, watch this, be careful, until you're body is shifted on its axis.

His fingers slide from your vision, allowing you to blink, see him, smiling at the sight of him.

“Fuck you’re handsome.”

Backing you up against the newly painted office wall, your arm hooks around his neck again, mouth ghosting over his as a hand hovers over your hip.

“Still trust me?”

Nodding, you feel his breath on your parted lips, before he slides his mouth over yours. Searing. Burning—all determined as his tongue slides past your teeth and his fingers slide up your neck, tracing your jaw. It makes you delirious. Dizzy. Thoughts nothing but lost to you until you glance past him and see it.

The built chair, in the nearly decorated office. The desk it should be behind is still a week out, but the chair, mirror and plants are all set up—the shelves adorned with bits you have for now.

“Hey?” he says, eyes snapping back to him.

Spotting the bubbling molten in his eyes, remembering how your body is aflame—

Then the next question comes. “Can I taste you, baby?”

Nodding, you whisper your answer into the air as he leads you, guides you all over again, moving you closer and more towards your new chair. Mouth latching itself to yours, palms on either side of your cheeks, before his hand steals the cushion, and throws it down.

“You look so beautiful, baby,” he whispers, trailing the words down your neck, along your collarbone.

It makes a gasp flutter from your lips, feeling your insides knot, likely dampening the fabric between your thighs, making nothing short of a mess—

“Gonna take these off, okay?”

Your tongue thickens in your head, swallowing a whimper at the feel of his thumbs hooking inside your shorts and slipping them down your thighs. The fabric skims, sliding, before they fall with a soft thud and he's guiding you to sit down in the armchair.

Taking a breath, you stare, captivated. Frankie sinking, kneeling before you on the cushion. “Part your legs for me.”

“Shit, Frankie.”

“Baby.”

Swallowing, you do. Then, it’s delicate, soft.

The gentlest of kisses up the inside of your thighs. Aware of the heat of his fingers pushing your knees further into the arms of the armchair, tuned into the way he exhales through his nose, cool air teasing over your already slick, cloth-covered pussy—the chair groaning when you buck your hips.

“Rainy.”

He grunts it. Low—warningly. It comes from a place in the back of his throat, grating and gravelly as he stares up at you. Nothing but brown dipped in more brown holding your gaze. Usually, it would make you smirk, but instead, you mumble an apology.

One that trails off; turns into a whine when he drags his tongue over the already-drenched fabric.

You’re not sure how it’s possible but you moan like you’ve been teased for hours. Sure that with a few more, you could be close—

“I want you to look in that mirror, and see how beautiful you look as I do this.”

“Frankie, I…”

His hand slides up, right between your still-covered breasts, before cupping your cheek, thumb under your jaw, eyes searching, sweeping and locating. “Look for me.”

Flicking your eyes to it, the ornate thing you’d not been sure you wanted until he’d slid his arms around your waist. Buried his face into your neck. Told you it was nice.

You’d agreed then, you most definitely did. Nodding, letting a little whispered okay escape as he nods. Staring, trying not to pick apart what you see in the reflection. The way your eyes look tired, skin not as bright as it normally would be. That is until he nips at your skin. Pulls your gaze from your own to the back of his head.

“Beautiful—”

“Frankie,” you sigh.

Hand coming over your face, heat blooming in your cheeks as you feel him kiss your inner knee. Thumb stroking at your skin, circling, before he taps. A silent request, a reminder: look at yourself.

You do.

“You are so beautiful, Rainy.” He dips his head—becoming aware of the finger sliding in the gusset of your plainest underwear, dragging the fabric, pulling it from your soaked core all the way to the side.

“I thought it when I first saw you.”

Air blowing across your core, before he places the most delicate, softest kiss against your swollen clit.

“Think it now, seeing you sat in your new chair, in your new office.”

You feel your chest heave, see it. Staring at the way the muscles strain in your neck from not moving, before he drags a long, slow stripe up from your aching hole to your nerves.

And he groans, low and dull. It vibrates against you before his tongue swipes again, hands pushing your inner thighs apart before he dives again. Sliding his tongue between your folds, licking, drawing.

He’s slow in his movements, measured. Delves as much of himself into you before wet, roaring heat swirls around and encases your clit as his growl sends flames up your spine.

That’s when he slides his fingers in. Curls them. Moves them in slow thrusts.

The whine of his name you let escape is sinful, practically unrecognisable. Your hips moving, unable to tear yourself away from staring at the way your mouth hangs open, panting, moaning, as you rock your hips, fuck yourself on his fingers, on his tongue, as you hope his other hand on your hip will leave a mark. Half moons or bruises, or even fucking both—

“Frankie, please.”

The angle of the mirror not only allows you to see the sight of him taking you apart, but how the act seemingly undoes him. How his shirt is stretched across his shoulder blades, how his muscles ripple under the thin fabric as you hold on to every thread as the pads of his fingers curl more into you. All come hither, beckoning the incoming wave you know is going to wash over the two of you.

And it turns you on.

“You like it, querida? Like watching yourself.”

“Like watching you.”

And you swear you feel him smirk as your hips lift, desperate for more, eyes speckled with spots as your nails grip the arm of the chair, the other lost and tangled in his curls.

It’s so good, so fucking good.

He’d make you confess, make you tell him everything—no matter the secret, you’re sure he could pull it from you like this. Have you spilling, as though he’s cracking you open, and even helping him translate the parts of you he’s yet to understand or know.

“So perfect squeezing around me, baby. Love how you taste—always taste so fucking good.”

Your back is off the chair, grinding into him, so close you can’t even think, can barely speak.

“Want you to come on my tongue, Rainy. Need you too.”

“Fuck.”

“That’s it. Let yourself feel good, baby. Use me, use—”

And you do.

Fuck. You do.

Your cry echoes and bangs around the walls before slamming into your ears. Legs shaking. Mind sludge as you come down from your high to his soothing touch, to his whispers, to his words that make you feel like you’re in heaven. Not just here, with his shoulders supporting your knees, but all the time.

It’s why you bring his mouth to yours. Messily, all disorientated from the high of him as you taste yourself on his mouth, on his tongue—the tang of what he’d done to you evidenced.

It makes you want, need.

You’re not sure how the two of you made it to the bedroom so cleanly.

His clothes are scattered, left in the hallway; a path that leads from one moment to the other. Your knees were likely bruised from how you dropped to them in the doorway, straddling the hallway and bedroom as you palmed him through his underwear, eyes wide, looking up.

“I love your cock, Frankie.” Hooking a finger in the band, dragging the fabric to his ankles, to the ground. “Like how heavy it feels on my tongue cock.”

Hand slowly wrapping around him, pumping once, twice.

“Fuc...”

His curse isn't able to form when your mouth wraps around him, taking him in your mouth. As much of him as you could. Hearing him groan, grunt—seeing his nostrils flare before his forehead presses into the crease of his elbow as he leans it against the door. His breath stammers, palm cupping the back of your head casually as he tenses, muscles straining, body stiff.

All you can think is you wish this image could be painted, commemorated; hung somewhere for your eyes to see everywhere, every day.

Because he's backlit by the afternoon, shadows cascade from the half-drawn curtains of your room, bicep flexing as you take him down your throat, loosening it as much as you can until the tip of your nose finds itself in his curls.

“So big, Frankie.”

He groans, at the same time as you taste salt, it pooling at the back of your throat. Your eyes flick up to see his jaw slackening, nostrils flaring when your tongue swirls around the tip, hollowing your cheeks, feeling him twitch in your mouth—

“Bed.”

It’s hissed, strangled, as he pulls himself from between your lips and spit trails over your lower lip and chin.

“Now?” you tease.

“Now.”

His hands, all capable and strong, haul you to your feet. Finding a home on your hips, directing and shifting you until you’re on familiar sheets, turned over, stomach flush to your mattress as he trails his mouth down your spine.

“Wanna fuck you.”

“Then fuck me.”

It’s different, the way your bodies come together. The way he swallows your hiss when he bottoms out, stretching around him, fingers clinging and clutching at him.

“Y’too good to me, Frankie.”

“Impossible,” he whispers.

Mouth sliding up over your neck, nose catching on your skin, his hand dips between your bodies—where you’re joined, where you’re full and stretched around him. It’s bliss. Perfection. One you endure so regularly but don’t become used to, each time as taken back by how good it feels to be seated fully inside you as his fingers tease your swollen nerves.

It’s with a smooth thrust do your fingers brush over his face, finding his cheek, mouth and nose, guiding with your eyes closed for his mouth to seal itself over yours. Hips moving, thrusting, meeting him each time as you grow slicker, making a mess of him and the sheets beneath you.

Mouth slotted over his, moaning passed his teeth, hands clutching his cheek, the back of his neck, fingers teasing his curls. “Fuck, Frankie. Fu—“

He grins, you feel it. His hand slides from your slick-covered clit to your hip, along your waist, travelling and travelling until his palm cups your breast—until his finger and thumb are pinching your hardened peak. All the time kissing you, open mouths, breathing one another as his pace quickens. As you feel the early signs of your thighs tremoring, seeking something to grip, to hold on tight—

“Love how you take me.”

You whine. Gasping.

And he’s smooth with it. The way he slides your hand from his cheek and down towards the bed. Hingeing you, making you go down onto all fours as he kisses down your neck, trails his tongue, leaving a searing wet line before he’s under your arm, snaking his mouth over as much skin as he can get.

“Baby—“

“I know,” he grunts, puncturing it with several thrusts. “Feels good, you always feel good.”

Your eyes clench shut, mouth falling open at the angle. At the way it makes your toes curl in nothing. Something tightening, something that makes the corners of your vision blot and darken. It close. Liquid heat forming, swirling in your stomach, in your need and you—

A whine rips from your throat. All stained in disappointment, in loss as he pulls out. Leaves you empty, desperate.

You almost hiss. Throwing your head over your shoulder as you glance back to see him breathing heavily, chest oiled with sweat, hand squeezing himself at the base, a lopsided grin spread into his cheek as his other hand slides over your side. Urging, silently requesting.

“Roll onto your back, Rainy.”

It centres you, roots you when his elbows come down on either side of you.

Warm, hot mouth sliding over your jaw, his hand gripping yours, holding you tight as he teases, slides the tip of his cock through your messy folds, taunting your swollen clit.

“I love you,” he groans, pushing himself in, completely to the hilt, all in one smooth movement.

You swear he's deeper. Always say so until he trails his hand up the side of your leg, lifting them, hooking them over his waist as you wrap them around his back, and dig your ankles into his lower spine.

“Feel so good.”

“You make me feel so good.”

Your chin tips up, feeling him press open-mouth kisses to your throat. Likely feeling the vibrations of your moans against his lips, his tongue.

“Yeah?”

Nodding, rustling your head against the dishevelled sheets as his breath fans over your collarbone, “Only you.”

His pace quickens, snaps his hips to yours, grunting, moaning—the sounds making you clench around him. Chasing your second orgasm, walls fluttering around him as your fingers tighten around his, as he grasps your hip and fucks into you. Spears into you.

“I love you too,” you moan.

“I’m close. So close. Want to feel you, baby. Can you come, baby, come for me—”

Fingers knotting tighter around his, vision spotting, it all pooling, all set to spread.

Then, it snaps, splinters.

You cry out. Body erupting.

Nothing but heat and fire surging through you as you are washed in it. Drowned it. Never wishing to be saved as you go under, as your hearing fades and your eyes blur. Only aware, distantly, of the way your skin tingles as it lights with a blaze.

But, you do catch his guttural groan. The way he stills, paused, as his eyes clench and your name is buried into your ear—feeling him collapse on you.

A weight you love.

His heart hammering against yours, breath strained, difficult as you clutch at him, pulling him closer if that is at all possible. Even if it's just for a moment, before steam fills your bathroom and soap suds slide down both of your skin.

Because it's a weight that makes you smile every time, every day. One you adore. One you never want to not know.

You say as much against his mouth as your lips sloppily meet his, smiling, grinning against his mouth.

I love you.

Love you too, Rainy.

an: this was almost titled the last smut. (because of the series coming to an end, not because of some unhappy ending)

#frankie morales smut #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #francisco morales x reader #francisco catfish morales #francisco morales #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier smut #triple frontier #frankie morales x reader smut #francisco morales x reader smut #frankie morales x f!reader #francisco morales x f!reader #triple frontier fanfic

[damienkarras73]

An essay on Furiosa, the politics of the Wasteland, Arthurian literature and realistic vs. formalistic CGI

Mad Max: Fury Road absolutely enraptured me when it came out nearly a decade ago, and I will cop to seeing it four times at the theatre. For me (and many others who saw the light of George Miller) it set new standards for action filmmaking, storytelling and worldbuilding, and I could pop in its Blu Ray at any time and never get tired of it. Perhaps not surprisingly, I was deeply apprehensive about the announced prequel for Fury Road's actual main character, Furiosa, even if Miller was still writing and directing. We didn't need backstory for Furiosa—hell, Fury Road is told in such a way that NOTHING in it requires explicit backstory. And since it focuses on the Yung Furiosa, it meant Charlize Theron couldn't return with another career-defining performance. Plus, look at all that CGI in the trailer, it can't be as good as Fury Road.

Turns out I was silly to doubt George Miller, M.D., A.O., writer and director of Babe: Pig in the City and Happy Feet One & Two.

Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga is excellent, and I needn't have worried about it not being as good as Fury Road because it is not remotely trying to be Fury Road. Fury Road is a lean, mean machine with no fat on it, nothing extraneous, operating with constant forward momentum and only occasionally letting up to let you breathe a little; Furiosa is a classical epic, sprawling in scope, scale and structure, and more than happy to let the audience simmer in a quiet, almost painfully still moment. If its opening spoken word sequence by that Gandalf of the Wastes himself, the First History Man, didn't already clue you in, it unfolds like something out of myth, a tale told over and over again and whose possible embellishments are called attention to in the dialogue itself. Where Fury Road scratched the action nerd itch in my head like you wouldn't believe, Furiosa was the equivalent of Miller giving the undulating folds of my English major brain a deep tissue massage. That's great! I, for one, love when sequels/prequels endeavour to be fundamentally different movies from what they're succeeding/preceding, operating in different modes, formats and even genres, and more filmmakers should aim for it when building on an existing series.

This movie has been on my mind so much in the past week that I've ended up dedicating several cognitive processes to keeping track of all of the different ponderings it's spawned. Thankfully, Furiosa is divided into chapters (fun fact: putting chapter cards in your movie is a quick way to my heart), so it only seems fitting that I break up all of these cascading thoughts accordingly.

1. The Pole of Inaccessibility

Furiosa herself actually isn't the protagonist for the first chapter of her own movie, instead occupying the role of a (very crafty and resourceful) damsel in distress for those initial 30-40 minutes. The real hero of the opening act, which plays out like a game of cat and mouse, is Furiosa's mother Mary Jabassa, who rides out into the wasteland first on horseback and then astride a motorcycle to track down the band of raiders that has stolen away her daughter. Mary's brought to life by Miller and Nico Lathouris' economical writing and a magnetic performance by newcomer Charlee Fraser, who radiates so much screen presence in such relatively little time and with one of those instant "who is SHE??" faces. She doesn't have many lines, but who needs them when Fraser can convey volumes about Mary with just a flash of her eyes or the effortless way she swaps out one of her motorcycle's wheels for another. To be quite candid, I'm not sure of the last time I fell in love with a character so quickly.

You notice a neat aesthetic contrast between mother and daughter in retrospect: Mary Jabassa darts into the desert barefoot, clad in a simple yet elegant dress, her wolf cut immaculate, only briefly disguising herself with the ugly armour of a raider she just sniped, and when she attacks it's almost with grace, like some Greek goddess set loose in the post-apocalyptic Aussie outback with just her wits and a bolt-action rifle; we track Furiosa's growth over the years by how much of her initially conventional beauty she has shed, quite literally in one case (hair buzzed, severed arm augmented with a chunky mechanical prosthesis, smeared in grease and dirt from head to toe, growling her lines at a lower octave), and by how she loses her mother's graceful approach to movement and violence, eventually carrying herself like a blunt instrument. Yet I have zero doubt the former raised the latter, both angels of different feathers but with the same steel and resolve. Of fucking course this woman is Furiosa's mother, and in the short time we know her we quickly understand exactly why Furiosa has the drive and morals she does without needing to resort to didactic exposition.

Anyway, I was tearing up by the end of the first chapter. Great start!

2. Lessons from the Wasteland

Most movies—most stories, really—don't actually tell the entire narrative from A to Z. Perhaps the real meat of the thing is found from H to T, and A-G or U-Z are unnecessary for conveying the key narrative and themes. So many prequels fail by insisting on telling the A-G part of the story, explaining how the hero earned a certain nickname or met their memorable sidekick—but if that stuff was actually interesting, they likely would have included it in the original work. The greatest thing a prequel can actually do is recontextualize, putting iconic characters or moments in a new light, allowing you to appreciate them from a different angle. All of season 2 of Fargo serves to explain why Molly Solverson's dad is appropriately wary when Lorne Malvo enters his diner for a SINGLE SCENE in the show's first season. David's arc from the Alien prequels Prometheus and Covenant—polarizing as those entries are—adds another layer to why Ash is so protective of the creature in the first movie. Andor gives you a sense of what it's like for a normal, non-Jedi person to live under the boot of the Empire and why so many of them would join up with the Rebel Alliance—or why they would desire to wear that boot, or even just crave the chance to lick it.

Furiosa is one of those rare great prequels because it makes us take a step back and consider the established world with a little more nuance, even if it's still all so absurd. In Fury Road, Immortan Joe is an awesome, endlessly quotable villain, completely irredeemable, and basically a cartoon. He works perfectly as the antagonist of that breakneck, Road Runner and Wile E. Coyote-ass movie, but if you step outside of its adrenaline-pumping narrative for even a moment you risk questioning why nobody in the Citadel or its surrounding settlements has risen up against him before. Hell, why would Furiosa even work for him to begin with? But then you see Dementus and company tear-assing around the wasteland, seizing settlements and running them into the ground, and you realize Joe and his consortium offer something that Dementus reasonably can't: stability—granted, an unwavering, unchangeable stability weighted in favour of Joe's own brutal caste system, but stability nonetheless. It really makes you wonder, how badly does a guy have to suck to make IMMORTAN JOE of all people look like a sane, competent and reasonable ruler by comparison?!?

…and then they open the door to the vault where he keeps his wives, and in a flash you're reminded just how awful Joe is and why Furiosa will risk her life to help some of these women flee from him years later. This new context enriches Joe and makes it more believable that he could maintain power for so long, but it doesn't make him any less of a monster, and it says a lot about Furiosa's hate for Dementus that she could grit her teeth and work for this sick old tyrant.

3. The Stowaway

Here's another wild bit of trivia about this movie: you don't actually see top-billed actress Anya Taylor-Joy pop up on screen until roughly halfway through, once Furiosa is in her late teens/early twenties. Up until this point she's been played by Alyla Browne, who through the use of some seamless and honestly really impressive CGI has been given Anya's distinctive bug eyes [complimentary]. It's one of those bold choices that really works because Miller commits to it so hard, though it does make me wish Browne's name was up on the poster next to Taylor-Joy's.

Speaking of CGI, I should talk about what seems to be a sticking point for quite a few people: if there's been one consistent criticism of Furiosa so far, it's that it doesn't look nearly as practical or grounded as Fury Road, with more obvious greenscreen and compositing, and what previously would've been physical stunt performers and pyrotechnics have been replaced with their digital equivalents for many shots. Simply put, it doesn't look as real! For a lot of people, that practicality was one of Fury Road's primary draws, so I won't try to quibble if they're let down by Furiosa's overt artificiality, but to be honest I'm actually quite fine with it. It helps that this visual discrepancy doesn't sneak up on you but is incredibly apparent right from the aerial zoom-down into Australia in the very first scene, so I didn't feel misled or duped.

Fury Road never asks you to suspend your disbelief because it all looks so believable; Furiosa jovially prods you to suspend that disbelief from the get-go and tune into it on a different wavelength. It's a classical epic, and like the classical epics of the 1950s and 60s it has a lot of actors standing in front of what clearly are matte paintings. It feels right! We're not watching fact, we're watching myth. I'm willing to concede there might be a little bit of post-hoc rationalization on my part because I simply love this movie so much, but I'm not holding the effects in Furiosa to the same standard as those in Fury Road because I simply don't believe Miller and his crew are attempting to replicate that approach. Without the extensive CGI, we don't get that impressive long, panning take where a stranded Furiosa scans the empty, dust-and-sun-scoured wasteland (75% Sergio Leone, 25% Andrei Tarkovsky), or the Octoboss and his parasailing goons. For the sake of intellectual exercise I did try imagining them filming the Octoboss/war rig sequence with the same immersive practical approach they used for Fury Road's stunts, however I just kept picturing dead stunt performers, so perhaps the tradeoff was worth it!

4. Homeward

Around the same time we meet the Taylor-Joy-pilled Furiosa in Chapter 3, we're introduced to Praetorian Jack, the chief driver for the convoys running between the Citadel and its allied settlements. Jack's played by Tom Burke, who pulled off a very good Orson Welles in Mank! and who I should really check out in The Souvenir one of these days. He's also a cool dude! Here are some facts about Praetorian Jack:

He's decked out in road leathers with a pauldron stitched to one shoulder

He's stoic and wary, but still more or less personable and can carry on a conversation

Professes to a certain cynicism, to quote Special Agent Albert Rosenfield, but ultimately has a capacity for kindness and will do the right thing

Shoots a gun real good

Can drive like nobody's business

So in other words, Jack is Mad Max. But also, no, he clearly isn't! He looks and dresses like Mad Max (particularly Mel Gibson's) and does a lot of the same things "Mad" Max Rockatansky does, but he's also very explicitly a distinct character. It's a choice that seems inexplicable and perhaps even lazy on its face, except this is a George Miller movie, so of course this parallel is extremely purposeful. Miller has gone on record saying he avoids any kind of strict chronology or continuity for his Mad Max movies, compared to the rigid canons for Star Trek and Star Wars, and bless him for doing so. It's more fun viewing each Mad Max entry as a new revision or elaboration on a story being told again and again generations after the fall, mutating in style, structure and focus with every iteration, becoming less grounded as its core narrative is passed from elder to youth, community to community, genre to genre, until it becomes myth. (At least, my English major brain thinks it's more fun.) In fact there's actually something Arthurian to it, where at first King Arthur was mentioned in several Welsh legends before Geoffrey of Monmouth crafted an actual narrative around him, then Chrétien de Troyes added elements like Lancelot and infused the stories with more romance, and then with Le Morte d'Arthur Thomas Malory whipped the whole cycle together into one volume, which T.H. White would chop and screw and deconstruct with The Once and Future King centuries later.

All this to say: maybe Praetorian Jack looks and sounds and acts like Max because he sorta kinda basically is, being just one of many men driving back and forth across the wasteland, lending a hand on occasion, who'll be conflated into a single, legendary "Mad Max" at some point down the line in a different History Man's retelling of Furiosa's odyssey. Sometimes that Max rips across the desert in his V8 Interceptor, other times driving a big rig. Perhaps there's a dog tagging along and/or a scraggly and at first aggravating ally played by Bruce Spence or Nicholas Hoult. Usually he has a shotgun. But so long as you aren't trying to kill him, he'll help you out.

5. Beyond Vengeance

The Mad Max movies have incredibly iconic villains—Immortan Joe! Toecutter! the Lord Humongous!—but they are exactly that, capital V Villains devoid of humanizing qualities who you can't wait to watch bad things happen to. Furiosa appears to continue this trend by giving us a villain who in fact has a mustache long enough that he could reasonably twirl it if he so wanted, but ironically Dementus ends up being the most layered antagonist in the entire series, even moreso than the late Tina Turner's comparatively benevolent Aunty Entity from Beyond Thunderdome. And because he's played by Chris Hemsworth, whose comedic delivery rivals his stupidly handsome looks, you lock in every time he's on screen.

Something so fascinating about Dementus is that, for a main antagonist, he's NOT all-powerful, and in fact quite the opposite: he's more conman than warlord, looking for the next hustle, the next gullible crowd he can preach to and dupe—though never for long. For all his bluster, at every turn he finds himself in way over his head and writing cheques he can't cash, and this self-induced Sisyphean torment makes him riveting to watch. You're tempted to pity Dementus but it's also quite difficult to spare sympathy for someone who's so quick to channel their rage and hurt and ego into thoughtless, burn-it-all-down destruction. When you're not laughing at him, you're hating his guts, and it's indisputably the best work of Chris Hemsworth's career.

It's in this final chapter that everything naturally comes to a head: Furiosa's final evolution into the character we meet at the start of Fury Road, the predictable toppling of Dementus' precariously built house of cards, and the mythmaking that has been teased since the very first scene becoming diagetic text, the last of which allows the movie to thoroughly explore the themes of vengeance it's been building to. A brief war begins, is summarized and is over in the span of roughly a minute, and on its face it's a baffling narrative choice that most other filmmakers would have botched. But our man Miller's smart enough to recognize that the result of this war is the most foregone of conclusions if you've been paying even the slightest bit of attention, so he effectively brushes past it to get to the emotional heart of the climax and an incredible "Oh shit!" payoff that cements Miller as one of mainstream cinema's greatest sickos.

Fury Road remains the greatest Mad Max film, but Furiosa might be the best thing George Miller has ever made. If not his magnum opus, it does at least feel like his dissertation, and it makes me wish Warner Bros. puts enough trust in him despite Furiosa's poor box office performance that he's able to make The Wasteland. Absolutely ridiculous that a man just short of his 80th birthday was able to pull this off, and with it I feel confident calling him one of my favourite directors.

#furiosa: a mad max saga #mad max #mad max: Fury road #furiosa #imperator furiosa #george miller #mary jabassa #dementus #praetorian jack #immortan joe #max rockatansky #analysis #essay #anya taylor-joy #chris hemsworth #charlee fraser #tom burke #charlize theron #continuity #canon #arthurian literature #arthurian mythology #the matter of britain #king arthur #alyla browne

[beesspacedotorg]

The Sky is Blue, the Grass is Green

Summary: You love your girlfriend more than anything else in the world. It's not hard, she's perfect for you. You'd give her everything she could ever want and more still.

Warning: SEX LESBIAN SEX WITH GIRLS AND LESBIANS. I will say that reader has a vagina as does lino. hits is because I wrote this while half asleep after not sleeping for 16 hours with a sore throat and forgot to write gender neutral reader. outside of the fact that the reader has one of those body type is not specified because :|. uh. spanking (sorry, I'm me) and mommy kink (me) and girls being in love with each other

notes: happy pride month. I've been listening to a lot of music by sapphics recently and it made me gay. Also I saw some loser say that Chappell Roan is the first queer person to publicly yearn for women and that is phenomenally untrue. Internet person who I've never met, this was written to spite you. Sorry for not making this more inclusive to women of all body types or to all lesbians regardless of gender. mayhaps I will write something for you soon. EXTRA NOTE: Moon Chaeyoung is not a kpop idol (to my knowledge) she is Cindy Moon aka Silk aka a Spider-Man. Chaeyoung is her Korean name. sorry for the slander, Cindy, I love you more than anything but I needed a name.

You’re going to make her your wife one day. You know this with the certainty that you know everything else. The sky is blue, the grass is green, you are going to marry Lee Minho. You’re staring at her, watching her make breakfast (that isn’t actually breakfast because you’re eating it at 2pm) in an old school shirt of yours and you can feel your love for her swell through your heart to be pumped through the rest of your body. You think that loving her is the most effective drug on the planet, that people wouldn’t need anything stronger than an ibuprofen because just spending a minute alone with her is enough to give you a high unlike any other. She turns around to plate the food and catches you staring, she always does, and it makes her ears blush crimson.

“Yah,” she says it softly, “take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“Why would I need a picture when I have the real thing right in front of me?” Her ears turn a new, deeper shade of red and she avoids your gaze.

“You’re a charmer, you know that?”

“I have the most beautiful woman in the world in front of me and you want me to be normal about it?” You roll your eyes playfully, and reach for your cup to take a sip of your juice.

“No, you don’t,” she says, suddenly.

“‘No, I don’t’ what?”

“You don’t have the most beautiful woman in the world in front of you,” she hands you your plate - with no eggs because you can’t stand them, and no pork because it makes you sick, and french toast the way your dad used to make on lazy Sunday mornings - made with love and care just like everything else she does.

“You don’t have the most beautiful woman in the world in front of you,” she repeats, sitting down next to you with her breakfast that’s completely different from yours, “I do.”

-

“Minnie Mouse?” You just came from work, calling through the house to see if she’s home, too. You can tell from the aggravated sigh that comes from the living room that she is, indeed, home.

“You could literally call me anything else,” she’s wrestling Dori on her lap, the tabby always staunchly opposed to having his nails clipped.

“Where’s the fun in that?” You sit down beside her and take the clippers, letting her soothe and calm Dori while you make yourself his least favorite for the night. You’ll live. He’ll come begging for attention when Minho’s too busy being great at everything to give it to him.

“The fun is not having your girlfriend break your toes in your sleep.” You laugh at her and bring her Doongie, holding him instead because he doesn’t care about the whole process even a little bit and you want to pet his soft head.

“Did you know there’s nothing they can do for broken toes?”

“Really? Doongie, please stop wiggling so much.”

“Yeah, they kind of just say ‘good luck’ and kick you out before charging you one million dollars for breathing hospital air.”

“American healthcare really is something. How’d you learn that by the way?”

“My friend had an experience once. Also, it was mentioned in a video game.” She laughs, kissing Doongie’s forehead, then yours.

“Did you learn anything else in that video game?”

“I have incredibly poor hand-eye coordination.”

“I could’ve told you that.”

“What- what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Will you get a towel to wrap Soongie in, please?”

“Hey, wait. Hey! You can’t just say weird things and walk away!”

(“Can you really tell that I have poor hand-eye coordination?” You ask her this while she’s splayed out under you, two of your fingers knuckle deep in her sweet cunt while a thumb circles her clit.

“What?” She’s out of breath and her chest is heaving in a way that makes her tits look even hotter than normal. You almost lose your train of thought.

“Earlier. You said you can tell that I have poor hand-eye coordination.”

“Jesus- you stopped fucking me to ask me that?” One of her hands that was cradling your wrist goes up to her eyes to rub at them. “You’re something else.”

“Well! I just remembered it! Maybe I’m not doing a good job-”

“Stupid girl,” she’s got you on your back now, seemingly not caring about the orgasm she was approaching before you got distracted. “When have I ever not told you when I didn’t like something?”

“Uh. Never?”

“Exactly, so why do you think I’d start now? With this?” She gestures between the two of you and you look, stupidly, like you will see something other than your naked, sweaty body and her equally naked, equally sweaty, incredibly sexy body.

“That’s… that’s a great question.”

“I was just teasing, jagi. That’s all.” She kisses the side of your mouth and you can feel the way her lashes flutter along your cheek in a perfect butterfly kiss. Everything about her makes you fall deeper in love the longer you know her, even her stupidly long and perfect eyelashes.

“So, about my hand-eye coordination.” She drops her head to your shoulder with another curse and your hand comes up to play with her hair.

“It’s still bad, believe me. I don’t notice it when we have sex, though. You’re perfectly good with your hands, jagi.”

“The best?” She smiles, kisses you on the mouth this time.

“The best.”)

-

She’s got you in between her legs in the tub, her strong thighs thrown over yours so you can’t move while she aims the jet of the shower head directly on your clit. It’s almost too much, it always is, an unyielding wall of pressure that sends shocks of pleasure through your body in a way that makes you squirmy beyond belief. The first time you did this to yourself, you ended up with bruises on your back, the first time you did this with her, you almost elbowed her in the face. As it stands, she’s got her arms wrapped around you as best she can as you whine underneath her.

“I can’t, I can’t. ‘S too much, please.”

“Jagi,” she coos it right into your ear, “you haven’t even came yet. You keep tapping out before it gets good. Don’t you wanna come, baby?” You nod and she tilts her head out of the way so you don’t nail her in the jaw.

“I want to, but it’s so much.” She coos as you again as your legs scramble uselessly for purchase underneath hers. The tile is too slippery for you to do so, and Minho’s thighs are no joke. She’s danced for years and her gym routine is nothing to scoff at. You could spend hours writing sonnets about her legs if you weren’t so distracted.

“You can though, can’t you, kitty cat?” Your hand pats frantically at her arm until she gets the message to hold it in one of her own. “You can be good for me, right? You’ll come the way I want you to?”

The sound you let out in response to that is more of a cry than anything else, she shushes you and kisses your cheek sweetly like she isn’t the one overloading your nerves with sensation, like the isn’t the one unleashing as much water pressure as possible on the most sensitive part of your body. She shifts her grip just slightly, adjusts the angle and that has you lurching forward so fast you almost knock her over.

“Silly girl, don’t run.” She pulls you right back to her chest, boobs pressed against your back as she fixes the spray directly at the angle that had you reeling. “I always forget how squirmy you get when we do this.” She giggles, like she’s watching a silly cartoon.

“Mommy,” you can’t think enough to say anything intelligent, high, pitchy moans coming out in place of words. You want to answer her, to tell her you weren’t trying to run, that you will be a good girl for her. She’s trained you better than this, but you can’t say much else beyond her title, beyond her name. You hope she knows what you’re trying to tell her anyway.

“Oh, jagi.” Her voice is soft and sweet, but the way she’s pinning you is not. Neither is the way she’s forcing you to take what she gives you. “Mommy’s here, kitty cat. Mommy’s got you.”

“Mommy. Mommy.” You’re repeating it, over and over, too dumb to say anything else as you feel the overwhelming input you’ve been receiving crest higher and higher. She hums after each mention of her name like she understands what you’re saying. Hums like you’re one of the cats meowing at her for attention. You suppose she’s not too far off.

You cum with a near silent scream, breath halting in your chest in a way that used to concern Minho when it first happened. She doesn’t keep the water pressure going for too long after that, dropping the showerhead to replace the stream with her fingers to help you ride it out. She only loosens her grip when you slump back against her, loose limbed and dazed, muscles still twitching from how tightly they were tensed. She kisses the side of your face and very politely keeps her hands above your waistline while you calm down.

“You feel better?” She’s holding the shower head again, and giggles when you close your legs, simply holding it to the side so it doesn’t spray water all over the floor.

“Mhm. Thank you, mommy.”

“I’m glad. Let’s finish showering, yeah? Mommy will clean you up.”

 (You’re leaning heavily against her as she guides you to sit on the bed, grabbing your respective lotions and hair care products and turning to take care of you first. You whine at her.

“Let me do yours!” She raises an eyebrow.

“Keep your eyes open for more than thirty seconds and maybe I will.” You lift your hands and manually pry your eyelids apart. She bats at them until you stop.

“Ew, it’s so gross when you do that. Freak.”

“I miss five minutes ago when you were telling me I’m the love of your life.”

“Five minutes ago you weren’t being a little shit head.”

“False. I’m always a shit head.” She hums and grabs your chin, wiggling your head a little until you look at her.

“No, sometimes, you’re my sweet little girl.”

“Oh.” There’s absolutely no hiding the way you react to her when she talks to you like that and your hands fly to her hips as she lets go and leans back out of your personal space to grab the stuff to start your post-shower routine.

“Let me eat you out.” It’s sudden, and comes out of you in a rush.

“What?” She nearly drops the bottle of leave-in, ears turning red.

“Please? Please. I’ll get on my knees right now.” She scoffs.

“You’re falling asleep as we speak”

“No, I’m wide awake right now. Please let me, please.” She hums.

“Let me finish what I’m doing and if you’re still speaking in full sentences and not going crazy with sleep induced hysteria, I’ll let you.”

“Yippee!”

“If you fall asleep you can have what you want in the morning.”

“You’re the best, ever.”

“I’m aware.”

By the time she’s done taking care of the both of you, you are definitely not well enough to be doing anything. That doesn’t stop you from trying though, and you fall asleep with your head pillowed on one of Minho’s thighs. She has to readjust you so you don’t suffocate in her cunt. What a way to go.)

-

Minho is having a bad day today. It isn’t often she has those, generally unflappable to most things, but she’d gotten into a fight with one of her work friends and came home in a huff.

“I just don’t understand why she won’t listen to me!” She’s slamming things open and closed around the kitchen while you sit on the counter. She works around you as she always does and doesn’t slam anything if it’s less than two feet away from you.

“I know, she’s a bitch. You should report her to HR or something.”

“I should!”

“I’ll help you draft the email. I’m very good at sounding bitchy in a nice way.”

“You are!” She’s aggressively chopping vegetables next to you and you rest a hand on her shoulder.

“Be careful of your fingers, lovie.”

“I’m always careful.”

“Of course you are,” you’re unusually agreeable because it will do nothing but harm to work your girlfriend up when she’s already upset. Besides, of the two of you, you’re more clumsy, so it’s not like you have any legs to stand on. 

“Do you want solutions to what’s going on, or do you want me to keep calling your coworkers mean names?” It’s nice to ask people what kind of support they want, you learned. Minho is a coin toss, sometimes she wants an immediate solution, sometimes she wants to complain. You always do your best to meet her where she is.

“The second one, please.” She’s sauteeing something in the wok, and it smells delicious. You peer over her shoulder.

“Pause. Is that pancit?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re the love of my life.”

“Yes, yes,” you touch your pointer finger to the tip of an iron-hot ear as she speaks, “please call Moon Chaeyoung a cunt again, it’s funny.”

And so you do, going into detail about all the ways Moon Chaeyoung is inferior at her job compared to your girlfriend until she asks you for genuine help.

(“Is there anything else you need?” She’s laying with her head in your lap as you make tiny braids in her hair. Her eyes are closing and she hums as she thinks about it. You’ve already given her all the advice that you can, her only course of action now is to do it.

“Well. I can think of some things.” She turns her head to the side and shoves her face into your crotch like an animal. You swat her shoulder lightly.

“You’re a horn dog. Insatiable.” She turns her eyes to you, squinting them so her cat-like gaze shifts from playful to predatory.

“Which one of us woke the other up this morning because they couldn’t stop shoving their hands in their pants?” She sits up, leaning over you.

“I was dreaming!” You’re giggling, slipping under her arm and moving away.

“You kept going after I woke you up!” She stands up, throwing her arms in the air indignantly. You cross your arms in response.

“I was horny!” 

“That’s exactly my point.” She has her head in her hands so the words come out muffled. She grumbles something and lunges after you. You squeal and head towards your room.

“Yah! Get back here you little shit!” She lets out a huff as you throw a cat toy at her.

“I thought I was the love of your life!”

“That was before you decided to run from me- don’t you dare close that damn door-” The bedroom door clicks shut and the sound of your giggles is uncontrollable. You hear her walk away before the lock jiggles and her head pops through.

“Guess who?” You laugh again, heading towards the bed to throw more things at her, it does nothing to stop her. It’s not long before she has you pinned underneath her.

“Hi,” you smile at her, leaning up for a kiss.

“All that and all you want to say to me is ‘hi’?”

“Yeah.” She rolls her eyes and flips you over as you yelp in surprise. You’re about to start questioning her when a sharp sting lights up your ass.

“Ah- Minho! Hey!”

“Stop squirming. I’m not done yet.” There’s another smack over your pants before she pulls them down and her palm is connecting with skin.

“This isn’t fair! I didn’t even do anything!” You’re protesting while laying limply across her lap. She laughs at you.

“‘This isn’t fair’ she whines. Why is your pussy so wet then, hmm?” She spreads your legs a bit and lands a smack there too, snickering when your legs close reflexively on her hand. “Be a good girl, jagi. Take what you’re given.”)

-

It’s sunny when you ask her. The air is hot and humid and she’s wearing this dress that’s making your brain melt out of your ears. You’re having a picnic, because you can, and she’s talking about this show that she’s watching with Jisung.

“And then- and you’ll never fucking believe this- he goes ‘I could never court her’ and she overhears. If that happened to me I would literally explode.” You hum, shoving a heart shaped sandwich in her mouth while you look at her side profile. She’s beautiful, sharp nose and a round face. You want to live the rest of your life with her.

You’ve talked about it before, on hazy mornings when the rest of the world is just waking. In the middle of the night when the only sound is the hoot of owls and the buzz of crickets. At lunch, at dinner, at breakfast. In the shower, over the phone, through text messaging when you’re at work. You both are listed on the cat's vet information, something she changed a year into dating that she was nervous about telling you.

  “I don’t want you to feel pressured,” she’d said, “or like they’re your responsibility. I can take you off if you want, but I thought that if I was out of town or if something happened, you should be able to take care of them.” She’d been nervous, ears red with shame instead of the cute way they flush when you flirt with her. 

“Thank you, jagi.” You don’t often call her that, preferring to torture her with bad puns using the syllables of her name, so her breath catches in her throat.

“You’re sure?”

“Of course.”

She knows every order that you get from fast food restaurants, she hounded your parents for their chicken noodle soup recipe when you got sick one time. She learned how to make your grandma’s spaghetti sauce and let’s you call her mommy in bed because it makes you feel safe.

She’s everything to you and then some, so when you tap her shoulder and hold out the ring you bought, it’s as natural as breathing. A fact of life, an inevitability. The sky is blue, the grass is green, you are going to marry Lee Minho.

“He keeps friendzoning her. It's absolutely despicable, like, are you blind or something-” She turns her gaze to you and her eyes go wide. “You’re joking.” Her eyes are welling with tears, something that you hardly ever see.

“I’m as serious as a heart attack, baby. Will you be my wife? I promise if you say yes I’ll start helping you make the bed in the morning instead of laying on it and making your job harder.” She hugs you, knocking you back onto the blanket you’re sitting on. The movement tips over your cup of lemonade and you damn near lose the ring.

“Of course I will. And you most certainly will not help. But that’s okay, I love you even if you create weird bumps in my sheets and mess up my hard work not five seconds after it’s done.” She kisses your face all over, resembling more like an overexcited puppy than the cats she favors, and you grab her hand to slip the ring on it.

“I love you, Minho. I really do.”

“I can’t believe I get to marry the most beautiful girl in the world,” she says, looking down at her hand.

“You don’t,” you start, kissing her cheekbone. “You don’t get to marry the most beautiful girl in the world. I do.”

(“You know,” she starts as you’re packing up, “I was going to propose to you soon.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Absolutely I am not.” She fishes around the pocket of her dress before pulling out a ring.

“This is so funny. Can I still have it?”

“Of course, it’s yours,” she slips it onto your finger, face heating up to match her ears, “everything I have is yours. Everything and then some.”)

#bee blurbs #ft.lino #lee know smut #lee know x reader #lee know x you #skz smut #skz x reader #skz x you #lee minho x reader #happy pride month everyone #auntie lee know #would it be too much to tag this post with lesbians

[lostinforestbound]

OH GOD I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR YOUR REQUESTS OPENING!!

Okay, so- I would love to read your thoughts on healer Tav with Rolan! Could be HCs, or a blurb, whatever you prefer^^ if you decide to make it a blurb, perhaps Tav could be patching Rolan up after the fight with Lorroakan?

This was so fun, I haven't written about the aftermath of Lorroakan's battle much! I hope you're okay with Tav as a cleric?? It's what I immediately thought of!

Rolan and Healer!Tav in the Aftermath of Lorroakan

Tav and their companions are absolutely exhausted. The fight with Lorroakan was nothing short of difficult, how were they supposed to know he had some elemental reaction? Karlach took plenty of hard hits because of it.

And then there was Rolan.

When they saw his bruises, they felt nothing short of anger. He was so excited for this apprenticeship, and Lorroakan twisted it into a punishment. He was a sick man, who now laid dead near Dame Aylin's feet after shattering his spine.

"Soldier," Karlach starts, putting a hand on their shoulder, "We're going to head back. Gale looks ready to collapse."

"Ah...yes. Of course." They say, eyes trailing to Rolan who has already grabbed a mop, "I'll catch up later. If not, I'll be here."

She gives a knowing smile before picking up Gale, throwing him over her shoulder despite his startled protest.

Dame Aylin gave the courtesy of disposing the body, so there is no worry there. They are worried about Rolan.

After promising to help in any way he can, it seems that he just started to...clean. Mindlessly. He's already mopping the floor of all the blood that was spilled, even as his muscles spasm from electrocution. He was almost killed, they all were, yet here he is, fucking cleaning.

They don't know whether to be more worried or pissed off.

"Rolan," they call, "What are you doing?"

"Cleaning. I do not want the blood to dry, it'll stick and be impossible to clean out."

"Did you even heal yourself?" They ask, marching up to him. "You got the worst of it all."

"I'm fine. Lorroakan is dead, the tower is mine. I do need to contact Lia and Cal-"

They snatch the mop out of his hand, and before he could argue they put a finger up. "Don't. Let me heal you."

"Tav-"

"You took a beating! We all did, and you shouldn't worry about cleaning! I'll help you with that later." They sigh, summoning their magic. "Rolan, please, I care about you and I know you're hurting."

He sighs heavily and relents, annoyed. "Just make it quick. I have a lot to do."

They ignore his sass, gently placing a hand on his shoulder and mutter their incantation. It's not nearly enough, but they feel Rolan slowly relax. A low level cure wounds is not what he needs through.

"It's not nearly enough. I'll patch you up. Now, take off your robes."

If they were paying attention, the could see how flustered Rolan's face went. "Tav, this is not necessary. You've done more than enough-"

"You are limping and I see the blood under your robes. Sit. Down." They demand.

He huffs incredulously and plops down on the book throne, slowly taking off his robes and under shirt. Those don't go without a few winces though.

Bruises, scars, and dried blood coat his body. The bastard seemed to be have beating him for a while, longer than Tav thought. It makes their blood boil, but now is not the time for anger.

They take out salves, bandages, and ointments from out of their pack and start working on the wounds quietly. Rolan suddenly looks extremely bitter, probably noticing that they had a question on the tip of their tongue. "I know that look, don't you dare judge me for sticking around even after the first hit."

"I would never judge. I don't understand it all, but...I want to."

He looks away, and Tav spots his eyes getting watery. "I don't wish to speak on it, today. I've done enough of that."

"Of course."

They finally manage to wrap up his more major injuries, which were at least sealed thanks to their spell. These are mostly to protect the more tender areas and prevent more injury. They know Rolan has been keeping it together in front of them, but he looks so tired.

When they open their arms up in offering, he carefully pulls them in for a hug. It's tight, it's crushing, but also secure. They don't say a word when they feel his body shake, or when their shoulder starts to feel wet, only pecking his temple as the man silently weeps. "I'm here."

#forest-writes #holy rolan empire #bg3 rolan #rolan #rolan bg3 #rolan x tav

[crystallizedtwilight]

I really like how you draw what you love in the moment. I am making a shift in my drawing interests as well, but I'm starting to feel guilty. My friends and followers know me as the (insert fandom) artist. Deep down I know what I am feeling is silly. Draw what you love! Who cares! I know that is the truth. So my question to you is, what do you do when those thoughts come to your head (if it does)?

What a thoughtful question! Below the cut:

Thank you! I've been on tumblr for 10 years and I have come to accept that I will always receive certain messages when I begin drawing a new interest:

"Guess you don't draw X anymore" / "Why did you stop drawing X?" / "Are you ever going to draw X again?" / "I want more X" / "When can we expect more X?" / "We're never going to see X again, are we?"

Though I've emphasized many times that this is my blog for all of my art and all my fandoms, every time I switch interests I am swamped with messages like this 3-4 months afterwards. It's an inevitability, because new folks may have missed that this is a "my current interest" blog, and old folks may not like the new content you're interested in.

At first it really bothered me, because I'd draw like 150 pieces of art for a fandom for 6 months straight, need a break, and the next day people will be like "guess you don't care anymore" like all the art I did wasn't enough.

The reality is: I like the idea of managing one blog for all of my artwork. I like how low-stress it is to have one, singular place I can still use a playground for my interests. I think it's a concept some people have forgotten is an option. Dare we call it a portfolio.

I am aware that the more "modern" way to conduct things, if you want to build an audience, is to have several blogs, each dedicated to one of your interests. But the very thought of managing 100 blogs every time I got a new interest makes my skin crawl and I know it would instantly suck the fun out of it for me.

I don't want to do that. I don't want to "build an audience", I just want to have a fun space for me. There are already so many social media sites out there besides tumblr, and if you're an artist that uploads to more than one, multiplying those by each of your fandoms? Sounds like more work than I want to do.

I can't remember the name of the artist, but I recall a few years ago one of the artists for the show Korra was bombarded with these sorts of messages when they started posting art that wasn't Avatar-related. And they said something to the effect of "I gave 2 years of my life to this show. Let me explore something new." And I'll never forget that. I feel the same way.

The theme of this blog is "my art". That's it. My interests change, sometimes circle back, and change again. And that's ok—that's how artists keep art fun for themselves. Every artist deserves a playground where they can share and connect with other people who are also just as excited about their newest thing. That's the joy of it.

Keeping yourself in a box just because that's what people want or expect you to do is the death of creativity. I am at peace with people unfollowing if our interests don't align anymore. This was never a blog for catering to anyone but myself, and that is ok.

So those messages don't bother me anymore. I know they're coming. I know they will always be there. And, every time, I will find new folks who do want to share in my new interest. I think in many ways I like starting over again. It feels refreshing.

But more than that, I know the importance of keep a space for myself online where I can be as creative and fun and silly as I like, chasing after the latest thing that is making me smile.

[ingo-ingoing-ingone]

A Personal Post

Hi guys, I'm finally making the post I kept telling myself and my best friends I'd make but wanted to put it off until I felt better. That hasn't happened and with how things are going I thought it was best to just post it now.

So for a while, since probably late 2023, I've felt less like my blog is for me, and more like it's some kind of fandom archive. Which, if you use it this way as-is, great! I'm glad my blog could make you happy like that! But that's not what I set out for it to be.

I'm the sort of neurodivergent person who likes to categorize things, including my interests. All my tumblr blogs are specific to one thing, and this one was no exception.

I began tagging things soon after I made the blog because I saw a lot of people were sad about the twins, and I thought "well since I love both sad and happy stuff, and I'm really good about categorizing things, maybe I can try and help!" And according to many, it did help!

But I think that also gave off the impression that I was making this blog for other folks, and that isn't the case. I'm sorry I never clarified. It's not an archive; I do not reblog shipping posts, posts from people I've blocked, AUs I don't click with, and sometimes just not everything I see.

I've gotten popular in the fandom, and for the most part I do, from the bottom of my heart, enjoy it. I have people who care about my hyperfixation! That's amazing! I have people who love my cosplay and want to meet up with me. I've made so many friends of all shapes and sizes and it's probably the most incredible thing I've ever experienced, truth be told.

But yeah my blog being mine has gotten away from me a bit, I think.

I want to keep tagging my submas tags, that isn't going to change. I will tag triggers when asked, unless it's kind of impossible due to the blog's subject (trains, for instance) or a name or really common word (like the word 'head' or something). Other than that please reach out and I'll do my best to remember. But other tags? Those will be up to me. I don't want to tag when OCs show up. I love OCs and like seeing them, and don't want to have to remember that one person who visits my blog doesn't.

I had anon off for a while because honestly ever since making this blog, there have been anons who really made me unhappy. (Also yes, non-anons but that's been fewer and far between). I've gotten misinformation, accusations, horrible and disgusting explicit asks, and criticisms and complaints, and I'm just... Not here for that. Keep the explicit things and misinfo out of my inbox, I am no arbiter of morality or personal decisions, and I am not here for you to share your negative opinions of submas or the fandom.

Anon is on for people who are too self conscious to chat face to face, for people to send fun headcanon ideas (remember when people did that back in 2022 when this blog started? I miss that, it was sweet and wholesome), to share song recommendations... That kind of stuff. If you have an actual problem, please, PLEASE talk to me off anon, whether that be DMs or a non-anon ask that I can answer privately. Especially if we're friends; please, please just talk to me about stuff. I don't bite! I swear!

But yeah the bottom line is I'm here to participate in fun (and sometimes heartbreaking!) fandom stuff. I'm here for FUN, not as my job. I know that we're all a bunch of neurodivergent folks and sometimes interactions can be a swing and a miss, but please try to be mindful. Please treat me like a person and not just like a museum curator for this blog.

Truth is, I haven't been okay for a while now. It's gotten worse this year for sure, and due to life stuff I cannot see things feeling better for me for some time. I need to go day by day for a lot of things, and I am trying to get better about needing to set boundaries and all that sort of thing. I suffer from intense paranoia too, and having so many eyes on me is genuinely terrifying at times. I'm trying to manage that as best I can, but I do ask that folks be kind.

NO I am not going anywhere, my blog is staying and will continue on as normal, but I really, really needed to get this posted.

Please continue to interact with me and chat and everything like that! But also please remember to treat this space, my blog, as my space. Thanks for reading!

#blue blogs #basically just. if you wouldn't want someone saying it to you please don't say it to me i guess? #please treat me like an individual person and not just a curator. #i do really and truly appreciate you all #most of you haven't done anything wrong and those who've made me uncomfortable mostly have done so just due to social mishaps #it's not the end of the world #please just try again and keep my boundaries in mind is all #going to link this in my pinned post as well

[iboatedhere]

Hi friend! Thanks for asking for prompts!

I’d love to request a fic based on a prompt from the June list - Peaches 🍑 (any interpretation you like 😏). Can’t wait to see what your awesome brain comes up with! ❤️❤️

start with a little inspo

"I'm having a full-on crisis."

"Henry, darling," Pez says over the line, "you'll have to be a tad more specific. You open a conversation this way at least three times a week." 

"This is the most urgent. This is the one that will have me change my name, grow a beard, and flee to the woods. It was lovely knowing you, Percy. Truly."

"I'm not entirely sure you could pull off a beard," Pez says. "Too blond and too pale. It'll just blend right in."

Henry groans.  

"Perhaps plastic surgery," Pez offers. "Although it would be a shame to cut up that gorgeous face." 

"Percy—."

"I'm sure I could find you an excellent surgeon. Let me make a few calls."

"Please go ahead and do that because I'm hanging up."

"I'm sorry, I'll stop," Pez says with a laugh that negates his promise. "Tell me what's wrong. You'll feel better once you do."

"I might have, accidentally, slightly, sexually harassed a politician on Instagram."

"That's quite the adventurous statement," Pez says after a moment. "Care to elaborate for me, Haz?"

"I don't even know where to start."

"The beginning, love." 

"You know how dreadful I am at social media."

"Indeed. If I had a penny for every time you accidentally posted a screenshot or sent me a DM filled with gibberish, I would never need to tap into my trust fund."

"Yes, well, there's this man that I follow—."

"The politician? Haz, if you dare tell me that you've taken an interest in some old, white dolt—."

"He is none of those things. He's quite young, and I believe he's said his father is Mexican—."

"Oh, you believe?" Pez says as if he already knows Henry has hung on to his every word since he followed him. 

"He's brilliant," Henry continues, "and beautiful."

"But still a politician."

"He's pro all the correct things, Pez. Nobody is perfect, but he's as close as I've seen."

"And you sexually harassed him?"

"Slightly. Accidentally. And via Instagram, which I know doesn't make it any better."

"What is his name?"

"Unimportant."

"You do realize I can find him by looking through your followers. It's the price you pay for only following one hundred people."

"I like to keep my feed neat and organized. Plus, the fewer people I follow, the less of a chance I have of embarrassing myself."

"And yet here we are."

"Indeed."

"Henry George Edward James Fox. What in the world did you do?"

"Well. He posted this photo to his stories, and I meant to scroll past it—."

"Did you?"

"I meant to screenshot it," Henry admits. 

"That's more like it. Do continue."

"I meant to screenshot it and then move on—."

"Wank off."

Henry hangs up. If Pez isn't going to be helpful, then they don't need to have a conversation. 

Thirty seconds later, Pez calls him, and Henry picks up against his better judgment. 

"Is his name Alex Claremont-Diaz?"

"Pez!"

"He's not hard to find. Running for New York's 11th Congressional District. Originally from Austin, Texas. Yee-haw."

"Pez, please, I'm dying."

"Moved to Manhattan to attend NYU law, then relocated to Brooklyn where he decided to try his hand at politics. Seems to volunteer a lot and posts quite a few thirst traps. I'm telling you, Haz. A man in a well-fit suit is a thousand times sexier than one with his shirt off."

"Did you look at his stories?"

"Looking now. A photo of the Brooklyn Bridge. Basic.  A Goldendoodle in the park. Adorable. A little photoshoot. Oh. Oh my. I see."

Henry hums, knowing precisely what Pez is looking at. 

Congressional hopeful, Alex Claremont-Diaz, facing sideways toward the camera in a jumper and khaki pants. 

"Certainly has a body on him, doesn't he? What did you accidentally say to him?"

"I didn't say anything. But I somehow sent him the peach emoji."

There's a moment of silence and then bubbling laughter. "Oh, Henry," he wheezes. 

"I don't know, my finger slipped on the screen or something, and then that little bar came up on the bottom, and the peach emoji auto-filled. I tried to delete it, but I hit send instead. Then I tried to delete that, but I couldn't, and now I'm panicking."

"Oh, darling."

"I don't know what to do. I'm so embarrassed I could die."

"I do think you're overthinking this a bit. The hopeful congressman did post that photo for a reason."

"So you think he was looking for this kind of reaction?"

"He's young, gorgeous, and very clearly knows it if he's taking GQ photo shoots and posting them to his socials. Plus, the angle of this shot…I think it's safe to say he got plenty of peaches sent his way."

"Oh," Henry says, doing an awful job of hiding his disappointment. He spends entirely too much of his time thinking about this man, and in return, he's barely a blip on his radar. "Okay. I suppose it's not as dire as I thought."

"As long as he doesn't block you, I think you're just fine."

"Okay," Henry says again as his phone dings. He pulls it away from his ear and looks down at a new Instagram notification. 

"Oh bloody hell," he breathes when he realizes what he's looking at. "It's a message from him."

Pez gasps. "What does it say?"

Henry holds his breath as he opens Instagram. "He sent me a photo of myself. That ridiculous one you made me post from during our trip to The Hamptons."

"The one in your swimsuit? By ridiculous, you must mean how ridiculously hot you looked. Posting that was a public service."

"I beg to differ," Henry says as another message appears. "Oh. Oh."

"What?" Pez asks. "What?"

"He sent the eggplant emoji. What does that mean?"

"Oh, Henry," Pez says, "love. It means you'll have quite the story to tell the grandkids."

#rwrb #rwrb fic #firstprince #firstprince fic #ask #summer prompts

[morningberriesao3]

I'm super excited to finally be able to talk about my Steddie Big Bang fic!!!

If you know me, you know I don't shy away from angst/miscommunication/(seemingly) unrequited feelings. A Thousand Flowers Could Bloom will be no different.

Here is the official summary--a story about finding the right person at entirely the wrong time. Hopefully, they get a second chance at rekindling their romance before it's too late, even though Steve is standing at the altar with his soon-to-be bride *wink wink nudge nudge*

Even more exciting, I've been paired with @inflomora-art @emobvcky who is extremely talented. I'm more than thrilled to be able to work with her and see what she creates for this story!!!

Read below the cut for a snippet of this fic!!

A Thousand Flowers Could Bloom

JUNE 28th, 1992, 11:59am

Eddie’s fingers tremble as they form into knots on his lap.

Memories. All the memories of him and Steve seem to flash before his eyes, like they always say happens in those few fleeting moments before death.

As someone who has experienced nearly bleeding out on the cold ground of the Upside Down, Eddie can confidently say that this hurts worse. That falling in love with Steve Harrington has singlehandedly been both the greatest regret of his life, and something he’d never take back for the entire world. Every memory he wants to change, or maybe it’s just that he wants to revisit them. All the words that were spoken—sugary sweet—but somehow always left a bitter tang on the back of his tongue. All the wounds that were opened and left to fester, and every touch shaped like a bandage that came a second too late to heal.

Because Eddie always knew this day was coming. He knew from the first second Steve pressed him against that door all those years ago, and he knew every second since.

Steve’s wedding feels more like a funeral. It’s Eddie in the casket, waiting for those two words that’ll drive the final nail forward and seal his fate.

Maybe then he can start mourning his own demise.

He squirms in the small seat he’s crammed in near the back of the groom’s section. Steve’s section. Row after row of family and friends and acquaintances—some that Eddie’s seen before, some that he hasn’t. And he’s behind them all.

It’s Eddie’s own faut that he’s parked in the overflow, he knows that. The last time he saw Steve he swore to himself—and to Steve—that it was the last. But the days turned into weeks, which turned into months, and then years. And Eddie slowly—so slowly—realized that his love for Steve isn’t exclusively the romantic kind. It spans beyond that.

Eddie doesn’t just miss the sex. He misses the laughter, too. The inside jokes. The companionship. The understanding. The bond that can’t be forged or faked with anyone else.

They started as friends. Maybe they could end as friends, too.

It took a long while for Eddie to land on this decision. That—even though his feelings will never fade—the rest of it isn’t worth throwing away. Being an adult is all about prioritizing, learning what’s important, the things that someone needs in order to survive this harsh and unforgiving world.

Eddie needs Steve. It’s as simple as that.

For the last two years, Eddie refused to accept Steve in any other way than in the throws of a fiery passion. But there are different types of need, he’s come to conclude. If he breathes in water like he breathes in air, it’s a death sentence. But still, he needs both to survive. If the fire he uses to heat his home ignites the walls, he’ll be left to freeze. But that doesn’t mean that the fire is dangerous. That the walls are too flammable.

Maybe he and Steve will never touch like they used to, or share dreams and aspirations in the earliest hours of the morning. Maybe they’ll never whisper to each other as the sun sets—words that tease the idea of love but never fully reveal it. Maybe Eddie’s fingers will forever be cursed to reach, but never to grasp.

Eddie needs Steve. It’s taken him this long to accept that sitting in the back row, behind the waiter from Benny’s and the owner of Melvald’s, is better than not being here at all.

When the music starts, Eddie’s heart stops. It’s a soft, melodic tune on the piano. Light. Romantic. Happy. Everything that a traditional wedding should sound like. But Eddie thinks it might as well be the fucking Death March.

The moment has officially arrived. Everything inside Eddie goes into fight, flight, or freeze. He’s always been a flight type of guy, so his thighs twitch, and he sits on the edge of his chair, and the little voice inside his head chants for him to stay still. Don’t run. Don’t throw up. Don’t make a scene.

He can feel his blood pressure spike—a roar behind his ears, a pesky light-headedness, a sheen of sweat on his brow.

It’s hot in here, he thinks. Is anyone else hot? Is anyone else on the verge of a panic attack, or is it just Eddie?

His eyes dart around the room, to the smiling faces that are all angled toward the huge set of carved double doors looming behind his shoulders. No one appears how Eddie feels. No one’s face is split wide open in anxiety. Only him, alone in his dread.

And then the doors open.

The first thing Eddie sees is a shimmering dress that matches the plethora of lilacs decorating the venue. Floor length and flowing. Elegant, just like the twist on the back of Steve’s mother’s head. She looks beautiful, having aged gracefully into her fifties. Her skin glows the same way Steve’s always did, olive-toned and sun kissed. Scattered in freckles.

Yes, she’s absolutely stunning. The only ugly thing about her is the look on her face as she walks down the isle and catches Eddie’s eye. The way her face screws up in distaste. The way it always has throughout the years when her gaze has seemingly been forced upon him.

In fact, it’s only seemed to have gotten worse. Each time Eddie sees her, it’s like she smells some putrid disease wafting from his skin, stronger and stronger, until his presence—the very sight of him—now threatens to infect her.

Eddie isn’t sure what she knows, but it’s plain as day that she knows something. She’s a smart woman. An intuitive one. A part of Eddie believes that she might be able to read his mind, see all the depraved things he’s done with her son, the way he loves him fiercely, the fear that Steve might have, at one point, felt the same.

A threat to the good Harrington name—that’s all Eddie’s ever been. A smear on their perfect record.

Luckily for her, the love is one-sided. Probably always was.

When she disappears to the front of the isle, Eddie’s sight doesn’t follow her.

Because Steve is next.

He steps onto the floor, his eyes cast towards the deep blue carpeting beneath his feet. His hands are balled into fists by his sides, clenching and unclenching the way they always have when he’s fighting his demons.

There’s no smile on his face.

Eddie itches to step out, but he visualizes bolts gripping him to the hardwood instead.

Steve seems to focus on nothing at all as he slowly makes his way up the isle. Step by step, slightly off the beat of the music, like his feet are itching to finish the walk from the gauntlet rather than drag it out. The only time he seems to snap back into reality is when someone gasps in the audience and whispers about how handsome he looks. His eyes flick up to his left. He forces a small smile. And then they lower back to the floor in front of him.

There’s not a single moment that Steve looks towards his own guests. Not one time that he looks at Eddie.

Finally, after what feels like both hours and seconds, he stands up front with his mother, gives her a small kiss on the cheek before he climbs the single step onto the podium.

It’s a blessing and a curse that he’s facing his guests, but still not daring to glance Eddie’s way. He’ll be forced to watch Steve as he speaks his vows, as he looks his bride in the eye, as he promises all of himself to another for the rest of his time in this world.

Eddie’s eyes are already tearing up thinking about it—but who is he to deny that they’ve been watering all morning.

His Steve will no longer be his.

Was he ever?

Was everything a lie?

Did Eddie misremember each moment that passed between them, every touch, every broken promise?

His jaw fuses together tightly, pain spiking up into his temples as he studies Steve with laser focus. Steve really is handsome—maybe the most handsome Eddie has ever seen him—in his light gray suit, his lavender tie, the little pansy in his pocket that must have been replaced because it’s perfectly pert and unwilted.

Steve has always been flawless, even with all his flaws. Every scar just made him more beautiful, every shameful secret he spoke to Eddie just made him more real, every mistake he made just made it easier to forgive him.

Eddie loves him for all of it. He loves him so fucking much, and it’s a special kind of cruelty that he’s not standing up there with Steve today. It’s a certainty that no one has ever loved Steve the way that Eddie has. No one ever will. Fuck society, fuck Steve’s parents, fuck every law that doesn’t allow same sex marriage—because it’s Eddie that should be standing next to Steve. Not her. Not when she could never feel half of what Eddie does.

The tears start to steam. And they don’t stop as more bodies keep marching up the isle.

Robin is next—Steve’s Best Man. Or maybe it’s Best Woman? She comes arm-in-arm with a young lady who must be the Maid of Honour—one that Eddie doesn’t recognize or bother to even look at. How could he when Robin is so radiant? Her hair is tied on the top of her head, somehow intricate and messy. Her outfit is also a suit—a muted red like all the other groomsmen—but she makes it look feminine with her delicate silk blouse and sparkling silver jewellery.

If anyone has the chance of outshining Steve, it’s Robin.

She stands behind Steve’s right shoulder as she parts ways with the Maid of Honour. Only, her eyes find Eddie’s in the audience when she stills, and Eddie dares to say they rarely ever leave.

The Party is next, all in matching suits to Robin’s, but instead of an open blouse they wear crisp white shirts. Lucas, Will, Mike, Max—the last in a dress—all line up behind Rob, their hands clasping elegantly in front of their laps.

There are other people too, ones whose backs are facing Eddie, ones who are associated with the bride. People Eddie has never met. People that Eddie doesn’t care about meeting—even if the admittance makes him a shit person. They’re all faceless to him. They’re all strangers—nobodies—and he wants to keep it that way. A disconnect that grants him a single thread of dignity, a single ounce of solace.

His eyes feel heavy as El comes through the doors next. Twenty years old now, but she’s still the pinnacle of youth. Still has that same roundness to her cheeks, the same mischief in her eyes. Though her hair has grown into wild curls, it’s neatly clipped into a braid on the back of her head.

She slowly walks down the isle, sprinkling flowers along the way. Lavendar and Lilac—the ones that match the colour of Steve’s tie, Robin’s shirt, his mother’s dress. Petunias. Sweet peas. Irises. All flowers in shades of purple, all flowers that waft their fragrance into Eddie’s nose as she whirs by and dusts a few near Eddie’s feet.

He looks down as a cluster of petals float onto the toe of his shoe. And there, amongst the purple, is a tiny shock of yellow. A halo of sunshine amongst the monotony of gloom. A single pansy, slightly wilted, the only one of its kind in the abundance of blooms littering the floor. The only one that matches the flower poking from Steve’s pocket.

It would be silly to assume this is the same flower that Steve replaced before walking the isle. The sad little flower that sat in his pocket as Steve’s arms wrapped—maybe for the last time—around Eddie’s shoulders. Pressed between them, delicate and fragile.

Eddie bends to pick it up.

He loosely pinches the stem between his fingers as tears more steadily stream from his eyes. It’s stupid that Eddie has sympathy for the damn thing. But still, he can’t help but think it was only a little wilted. A little imperfect. And it was plucked from Steve’s life, replaced by another more appealing to the eye.

But what if Steve wanted to keep the sad little flower? What if the flower wanted to stand next to Steve on the podium and hear Steve’s sweet words of adoration? What if its petals would perk back up if Steve just wanted it? Just loved it?

Eddie takes the stem, pops it in his small cup of water. And he vows to take care of it the best that he can.

That flower is just like him, he decides. At least they can wilt together.

@steddiebang2024

#steddie #steddie fic rec #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steddie fic recs #steddie big bang #steddiebang24 #steddie fic #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson x steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #gay eddie munson #bi steve harrington #steve and eddie #steve x eddie #eddie x steve

[dearanakin]

trust you | anakin skywalker: episode V

Summary: You go on a mission with Cal... and Anakin. You have a task as a tech engineer, but dealing with General Grievous and his army of droids can be challenging. Ps: There's a character guest in this chapter, remember it doesn't follow the actual timeline of the franchise!!

No warnings, just vulgar language (a lot of it because it's a mission and they're all on the verge of flipping out lol)

Word count: 4.7k

*

(Y/N):

I'm not sure I even had the option to actually deny the offer Cal made. To be honest, he practically begged me and forced me to agree on going with him and his team to a trade with someone with a weird name.

Worst of it all, I had to be their tech guy for the mission. A mission led by none other than Anakin. I wish I could actually have had a choice, because I sure wasn't expecting to see his face this soon.

Especially after he literally threatened me the other day. I don't think I've ever felt this scared in my life. We all know the guy has a temper and he doesn't follow any rules. As much as we all hoped he would change through the years, it seems like it's getting worse instead.

Now I'm sitting next to Cal in his ship, while Artoo is on top of it. He seemed a little distressed, he doesn't show off his emotions a lot because he knows I get worried. But I know after what happened that day he's not getting along with Anakin.

I mean, who would at this point? He looks at you like he's about to rip your eyes out.

And I know Cal didn't want to look like he's only on this mission because of the team itself. He told me he didn't want to collaborate this time, which only made the Jedi Master walk around with a deadly look on his face.

But the redhead never felt intimidated by him in any way. Or at least he doesn't show it. As far as I know, we're heading to General Grievous' spaceship. I feel like I've heard this name before, but I can't collect it.

"So, what's the plan? Leaving me trapped in here with R2?" I ask as he maneuvers into outer pace, a concentrated look on his face as he does so.

He chuckles with dramatic concern. "You'll be looking out for us with commander Poe Dameron first" Cal explains as I nod. Who is Poe Dameron, by the way?

"He's a Jedi as well?" He shakes his head in response. "He's... not?"

Okay, that concerned me. I'm only used to being around force sensitive people, and being a human already scared me enough. Now, knowing I'm going to be around another human makes me wonder whatever happens if we get attacked.

"Nope, but he's a good Resistance's Starfighter Corps member. And a good pilot" He gives me a smile as he turns his head to face me. He can read my panic plastered all over my face and reaches out his hand to grab mine. "We're gonna need you there to break into their system".

So, we'll watch as the trade unfolds and hope for the best first. Do I agree with that? I didn't, but I had no choice but to help them.

"And if something happens, before he drops you there, he'll bring you back to Coruscant" Cal shoots his head back forward as we approach the starship.

Yeah, simple as that, right? If something happens, like, we'll just go back and live it out. Doesn't seem too tragic for me, I love the adrenaline.

Not.

We landed on a hangar, Cal preparing himself up before leaving me out here with only a Droid and a man named Poe. I hope this guy isn't a douchebag like Skywalker is, I won't be able to run away from him if I wanted to.

He gives me a small kiss on the forehead before leaving the ship, sending me a half smile before meeting the others already in formation. I watch as a brunette man walks towards from where the redhead just left and waves back to the others.

He has wavy dark hair, as well as dark brown eyes, and a stubble. Damn, this man looks fine as hell.

Poe steps in and sits down on the seat next to me, looking right up with a kind smile on his face. He finishes buckling himself before introducing himself to me, while I still glance at him like he just came out of a Disney movie.

"Hi, I'm Dameron. Well, Poe Dameron but they call me by my last name since I'm a commander" He explains, extending his hand for a greeting. I grip his hand for a few seconds before releasing.

Good handshake, firm and gentle. What am I even saying at this point?

"You're (Y/N), right?" I nod as he looks back at the panel, starting the ship.

"Yes, I am. It's nice to meet you" I say for the first time, feeling like I have never met anybody that gorgeous.

"Likewise. So, you're an engineer? You fix everything?" Poe asks, concentrating on lifting the flight.

"Well, mostly prosthetics and spacecraft. They're already too much to handle most of the time. But I can manage computers and systems as well"

"You were responsible for creating the robotic arm General Skywalker has?" He seems interested in what I do for my living and it kinda distracts me from the mission we were on.

I wish I could not hear this name on a daily basis.

"You know him?" I didn't mean to sound too surprised, but my voice gave it away anyway. "And not really, I usually fix it for him".

Yeah, and the last time I did it he almost got killed and that led to me almost getting killed as well.

"We've been out and about on a few assignments. I'm mostly doing tasks for the Resistance, leading attacks and all that" He sets the ship on standby as we watch from a distance while the group of Jedi gets in the Trade Federation Starship.

"Are you never scared of doing these dangerous jobs being human?" I ask out of curiosity, it gives me such a bad feeling being out for work like this.

He looks at me and grins. How can someone be so good looking like that? This is so distracting. "Kinda get used to it at some point, I chose this life".

I just nod and stare back at the distance. We both had comlink for communication, R2 looking out for any threats as well. I shuffle uncomfortably on my seat, desperate to be done with this mission. Poe notices my discomfort and rests a hand over my shoulder.

"You're going to be fine, they'll protect you at all costs and we'll be on full alert from afar. That's why we have other starships in position" He tries to comfort me and gives me a nod.

It doesn't change anything about this assignment, we all know how difficult they can be.

My sweaty hands grab my duffel bag and I look over the tools I brought with me. I hope this shitty idea works, because I can't be bothered to feel bad for failing their job.

A few minutes later, which seemed like hours, Cal spoke over the comlink and Poe promptly shifted the gears and flew back to the starship. As we land, I see him next to another General all while waiting for me. My nerves are on edge and I feel like I'm gonna fucking throw up.

Before I leave, Poe gives me a sympathetic look and offers a handshake. "May the Force be with you" He says kindly.

"May the Force be with you, commander" I force a smile that might have come out as a grimace and follow along with the other guys.

Cal stands next to me as we enter the enormous vessel, full of bodyguards and droids. He ignites his lightsaber and gets closer to my ear.

"We're close to the vents that lead to this small control room. We'll have to get into their system and gather as much information as we can" He whispers, walking me through a small hallway.

He and the other Jedi stop on their tracks and immediately drop both of the droids standing there. Cal turns on his heels and approaches me, handing me a blaster gun. One I was supposed to carry around but am too fucking scared to do it.

"You might wanna use it this time" He reaches out for a pocket knife strapped on his ankle and offers it to me as well. "I didn't say you'll have to. Just for self-defense".

He glances up at me with a tender look on his face. This man gives his life to protect me and I'd do the same if I could. I mean, I do but not the same way he does of course.

I just nod at everything he says and we look up at the vent. I'm not doing this alone, am I?

If I had a dollar for everytime he uses his force for mind reading, I would be such a rich person right now. "I'm going with you" He adds.

Getting in a vent with a duffel bag is probably one of the worst scenarios I never thought about. We were dragging our bodies while he tried to drag the bag without making much noise, but obviously not being very cautious with the tools, the gears and other objects in there. We get to the room, me behind Cal as he shoots his blaster against the soldiers. I can't feel my legs at this point, and it's not even because we're in such a small space.

He drops on his feet first, glancing around the room, before looking up at me. He shoots both arms up, waiting for me to jump in as well. I don't know how I was able to pull a stunt like that since I'm afraid of heights. And I mean 8 feet is already too much for me. Cal grabs my hips and slowly puts me down, a large smile on his face.

"There you go, James Bond!" He mocks, arching his back as I swat him on the chest.

"Shut up, smartass" I can barely speak as I feel my voice falter from the stress and the adrenaline.

He walks over a large control panel, hundreds of different colored buttons and keys. They have pretty much a huge system for such a small room. I mean, if there's a bigger room then this is just a gist. First things first, I had to disable the security camera before someone came bursting into the door. I sit on the big chair and Cal leans against the desk next to me. I'm sure he has no idea what the hell I'm doing. I use a small device to hack into the system and quickly find the program to the security camera. 

They clearly need a better safety system, because it's too easy to get into their computer. Either that, or it's a trap. But I'd rather believe they're just that stupid. I turn off the cameras, both of us making sure they're all shut down.

Next, I type in a few things on the keyboard, trying to find what exactly they need. Cal uses his pointer finger to make sure he's looking for the right folder, carefully reading every single word on the screen. "We need strategies folders, every spacecraft and architecture project. List of trades and traders they use".

He said it like he was writing down a fucking grocery shopping list.

I try not to send him a glare or even look at him like I'm pissed. So I just go straight to the point. "Might as well just wipe out the entire computer, Kestis. This might take hours!".

"You can just add them to the device you have?" I swear to God, he can't be that serious.

"You're smart, Cal. Use your head. How big do you think these files are? They're all programs, it's a heavy stack of files" I start to get freaked out with the idea of being there for too long.

"Okay, right I'm sorry if I'm a newbie at technology" He adds dramatically. "Can you just drag the list and the strategies folders then?".

I move the mouse right away, bringing everything to my device, waiting for the system to calculate the estimated time. I can't help but tap my fingernails over the desk while I wait for it. Cal doesn't seem too worried like I am, as though he carries a very serious look on his face.

"We've been in for ten minutes. We probably still have a good half an hour left" He says, still leaning next to me, looking at the watch on his wrist.

"Considering this ship can blow up when we least expect it, I don't think it's good" I look at him like I'm not feeling well. He reaches my right arm and folds his big hand around it, giving it a light squeeze.

"We'll know before it happens, darling" Cal reassures me as his hand goes up and down on my arm in a comforting attempt.

Fifteen fucking minutes. I'm gonna throw myself off the ship. He uses his comlink to let the others know, which they all agree. For the first time, Anakin goes in the line and says he's trying to make a trade. It was all a set up as Cal explained.

The remaining seven minutes turned into a disaster, when a loud blast echoed through one of the hallways outside the room. Then an alarm went off and the lights switched to a dim green light. I just wish they won't turn off any other system before I can transfer everything, otherwise this would be just a waste of time and job. We looked at each other, he was gripping his lightsaber tightly waiting for something to happen, while I held the blaster just for the sake of it. There was another loud burst from a distance, the red head sprinted closer to me.

"Is everyone good?" He asked through the comlink, no one answered. "Damn it" He muttered.

"We need to get out of here before it gets worse!" I try to step in and figure out a way for us to get out. He didn't seem to listen. "Cal!".

"We're closing in on the ship. We noticed a few explosions around" Poe finally chimes in, but not with good news.

Why is it never good?

And then Skywalker called out again, this time shouting words I couldn't understand. I twist my head to the side and look at Cal with desperation.

"It's a code, they're attacking us" He immediately watched as I stood up from the chair. "Hey, look at me! I'm here, you're fine okay?".

Definitely far from being fine. He then proceeded to talk but I'm too busy being stunned to care about it. His voice started to get muffled and I felt like my vision was getting blurry. Is this even the right time to faint or have a panic attack? He shakes both of my arms calling out my name, and I slowly blink a few times before staring back at him.

"For fuck's sake, (Y/N/N). Listen to me" He then places his hands over my face, forcing me to look him in the eyes. "Please, listen. I need to go back there and help them. There's a digital lock on the door, they can't get through if you block it. They'll need to blow it up to get to you".

And you think it's hard for them to do it? That won't be enough.

Again, he furrows his brows and keeps holding my face. "Stop with the overthinking, I can hear it louder. Look, I'll manage it. I'll be back in no time, just wait for the files to finish and you wipe out the rest, fuck it. We don't care!"

I try to agree with the plan, but it was just too hard to keep up with everything. Before he turns on his back to leave the room, Poe speaks up again.

"There's a General lying on the floor, he seems to be injured. It's on Block D" He states before going off again.

This time, me and Cal share the same look. Now he seems more concerned than I do. I follow his gaze up the vent we came from, nudging himself up as he grips the edge literally vanishing. I call out to him, but he doesn't answer.

"Shit!" My hands are shaking so bad, I can't even type without missing the keys. "Shit, shit, shit".

Two minutes. Just give us two minutes and we're out. I hear a lot of grunting up on the room, the floor above me filled with noises and shuffling. The locked door starts pounding and I look straight ahead, fright starting to wash over my body.

"Poe" I have no fucking idea what I'm doing. "Are you there?".

"Definitely here, Miss. How are you holding up?" He asks.

"Do you see any of them? There's someone trying to break in and I don't know what I'm gonna do!" My heart is racing and it feels like I'm going to have a stroke in the middle of the room.

"Just talk to me, alright? How long until it's done?" His voice sounds comforting from the other side until he shouts. "R2! Not that guy, he's friendly!".

I have no idea what's going on outside but I try to shrug it off. "Two minutes! My hands are shaking so bad that I'm not sure I can shoot whoever comes in".

"Okay, not so bad" It takes him another second to keep talking. "I remember I learned a breathing technique, we're doing it together alright?".

I forget he's not next to me and I nod, but I feel like he got that anyway because he started counting and walking me through it. Breathe in and count to 4. Then count to 4 breathing out. Repeat.

"Now, hold your blaster up. Focus on anything as a target and breathe. When you inhale, you count one second and shoot. Don't wait, just shoot. If you miss it, just keep shooting" He explains, wasting his time giving me attention instead.

It makes me feel bad that someone has to do it when he could've been minding his own task. But I'm really appreciative either way. I don't know where the fuck Cal is.

"Don't forget to use anything for hiding and leverage. And please, don't forget to bring back the device" Nice one, Poe. Imagine being in danger like this and not even being able to remember one simple thing.

"Okay, thank you, commander" I breathe through my mouth and grasp the blaster.

Looking over the computer screen, I see that there's only forty seconds left and the door is about to burst open. At the same time, I hear Poe for the last time.

"We're sharing a beer when we land in Coruscant. I wanna learn some technology tricks" I barely have time to laugh as I watch the door sling open.

Okay, breathe. One. Shoot.

Shit.

I miss it by inches. From across the room, I look at Anakin giving me a snide stare as the blast just crossed past his shoulder. I gasp from the outcome and the sudden surprise, but he doesn't give me time to process everything as he shouts at me. His eyes are pure angriness and his shoulders are stiffened.

"Come on, I don't have all the time in the world!" Anakin waits by the door as I quickly set the system to wipe everything out and grab the device before we sprinted out of there.

We rushed with him behind me, there was a mess all over the place and the blaring alarm was deafening. I couldn't even aim while running, my hands were sweating and I was afraid of tripping on my foot. He kept dodging the attacks as well as blocking them from coming at me. This is the most attention I'm going to get from him and it's kinda funny given he hates me.

Anakin pulled a hand over my shoulder to guide me towards the hangar, my eyes shifting to take notice of what was incoming. I tried to at least shoot some of the droids but I was terrible at it.

"Grievous just left the hangar with an escape pod" Cal spoke up after a while and I let out a heavy and long exhale. "Knock down these fucking droids and hurry up!"

I didn't understand the seriousness in his voice, the Jedi Knight behind me still hasn't said a word yet and I have no idea what I'm actually doing at this point. Shooting at them and missing doesn't quite help knocking them down faster and I swear I can hear Anakin just groaning in frustration.

Out of nowhere my arm gets yanked back by a guard droid, pulling me over a room and wrapping its robotic arm around my neck. As if I was panicking already, this time I was pretty sure I was going to collapse. I tried to shove myself off from the tight grip, but it only made me flinch more.

"Drop your weapons, Master Skywalker" It said with their gun stuck to my temple.

I looked at him with such fright, my eyes were desperately crying for help. Anakin frowned, using his flesh hand to hold the lightsaber while the other one he used to pull back using his force.

"Let her go!" He screamed, bloodshot eyes and blue irises staring at the droid holding me. "I said let her fucking go!".

"I'm sorry, Master. We have a mission of our own to do" The droid said before managing to leave me unconscious on the floor.

Anakin:

Fuck. Shit. Motherfucker. Fucking cunt.

I kneel in front of her as she lies unconscious on the floor. She seems to be breathing, but I have no idea what this cocksucker did to her. I didn't expect my mission to be such a disastrous piece of shit. As she's still out, I look back at the droid that's staring at me with a puzzling look on its face.

I know how to read droids' faces and it's a gift from heaven. It's easy to trick them when I want.

"What did you do?" I shout and use my hands to shove it back with the force. I tap her face a few times, she doesn't even flinch. My voice barely comes out as a whisper to avoid the other droids to find me.

How much worse can it get?

I grab her, sliding my arms under her torso and lifting her up in a quick motion. At least she's easy to carry. Through my comlink, Cal starts getting riled up and spitting words like he was worried about something. And then I remember about their friendship.

Fuck me.

I try to ignore all the cursing through my ear, at the same time as I pull (Y/N) up on my shoulder, her body swinging as I run faster. I can't dodge all the attacks at once, but I maneuver myself avoiding getting us both killed. My lightsaber slashes them, knocking them down making it easier to get to the hangar.

"I have her, Kestis! Will you shut the fuck up now?" My voice screeches when I yell at him and my throat hurts.

"Why doesn't she answer her fucking comlink, then? Did you kill her, Skywalker?" His voice started to annoy me, my head was hurting from all the situation. I groan loud enough for him to listen.

"Yeah sure, I killed her and now I'm bringing her body myself because I'm just that smart. She's fucking unconscious, relax!"

And now he's just being even louder and insufferable.

Poe spoke up, his voice emerging like an angel sent from God. "Alright, guys. Let's just settle down, we're not at kindergarten".

I roll my eyes at his statement, rushing towards the hangar. The only ship in good shape was one of theirs, and Cal was standing in front of it. He was pacing around, hands on his hips, his forehead was creased and when he saw us he bolted forward.

"What the fuck happened?" The redhead asked in dread, throwing his arms up.

"We don't have time for bickering right now, Cal. Just help me get her up inside!" I swear my head was going to explode anytime soon. "A droid pulled up some shit on her and she just blacked out".

Could've said it sooner, he would probably understand. He looks at me like he knows something, but I don't bother asking.

"It was probably a spell or something. We need to lay her down" He says sternly as we approach the back of the vehicle and drop her on a cushioned bench.

"This is not what I planned for this goddamn assignment!" I mumble before turning on my back to both of them, heading to the cockpit.

"Well she got the fucking device, you should be glad she could do it and not die either!" He spat back, his hands holding her feet as he props her on the bench.

I just turn away from him making my way to my seat, turning on the gears. Hopefully we'll be back sooner than I expect, I just want to take a long shower and be with Luke for a while.

"We're good to go?" Dameron asks, his voice in a relieved tone as he watches us leave the hangar.

"Yes, commander" I mirror his tone and fly off the starship.

My mind eases as we leave it behind, I feel my hands grip the yoke from the ship tight. We didn't get to do the trade, Grievous noticed our plan way before we could get ahead of them. They attacked us in a matter of seconds, bolting at us with no time to figure out an escaping route.

This one mission is hours away from Coruscant, so it was going to be a pain in the ass to sit this close to Kestis. The moment I realized I had to be next to him it just made me pissed. I don't care about (Y/N) on the back, she tried to help and she barely knows how to blast a gun.

I won't complain about how Cal helped the team out there, as a matter of fact. But I still can't stand seeing his face, considering we just confronted each other the other day. The guy always means good to people, but it doesn't stop me from hating his guts after what he pulled on me during our meetings.

Almost two hours after we left Grievous' ship, we were almost entering the Coruscant atmosphere. That was when she finally woke, a grunt escaping from her lips as she finally took in where she was. Cal helps her lean against the wall, while she places a hand over her head.

"Holy shit" That's her first words after waking up. She can't help but smile at the achievement she made.

I watch as she still keeps the smile on her face, pulling the device between her fingers and raising the object in front of her eyes. It took me seconds to notice I myself had a side smile against my will. The red head leans for a hug, both of them laughing.

I can't help but clear my throat before I regret doing this. "Uh- Good job out there, geek. The team is proud of you" I barely speak and the guy seems to remark that.

"What did you say? We can't hear it!" He says it out loud on purpose, and I feel my hands balling into fists. "Did you just compliment (Y/N/N)?"

"Don't push it, Kestis" My eyes roll to the back of my head, I push myself off the wall. "Good to see you're up".

They stare at my figure quite shocked, their faces almost the same as their mouths hanging open in such a surprise. I'm very aware that's the kind of effect I cause on people when I'm being nice, and I know I'm not really the golden boy of the year either.

But I can't just avoid the fact that, without her, we wouldn't have information about General Grievous and his army. Even though it didn't end how we expected it, that's a win after all.

Before I walk back to the cockpit, I hear her cracked voice speak up. Like she was embarrassed of talking to me. "Thank you for saving me out there".

My head nods before I turn on my heels, it almost feels like I've switched back to the young Anakin. Real smooth, Skywalker.

@jackie-on-the-loose @adorbzliz @himesuedi @kingdomhate @himesuedi @cl0esblogg

#anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker fanfic #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin fanfic #anakin fanfiction #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin imagine #star wars fanfic #hayden christensen imagine #anakin skywalker fluff #anakin fluff #anakin skywalker #usersavana #clonecaptains #userlace

[drdemonprince]

do you have any tips on distinguishing between wanting to bang/wanting to be wanted by/wanting non-sexual intimacy with someone? or is it just a case of seeing how you feel when you're actually with them and getting good at communicating about it

im probably not the best person to ask, because it took me uhh decades of fucking random people before i let myself acknowledge that sex is nearly always extremely boring to me and the only thing i'm thinking about during sex or in the lead up to sex is what i imagine the other person might be feeling about me.

every now and then a raw animal chemical attraction happens where i just feel like i NEED the person in me, i love how they smell and taste and i will risk it all to get them to bust inside me and i want them around me afterward.

but the rest of the time its this completely intellectual fantasy. instead of getting all wrapped up in the sex, or the person, all i care about is what i can convince myself it means. thoughts like this:

"oh this person is hot, it's very validating of my desirability that someone this hot wants me"

"oh that guy came very fast, how flattering that he was so turned on"

"i cant see his face in this position but i imagine that he's staring at me hungrily, that's flattering"

"wow i got someone from grindr to come over within ten minutes, im so good at sealing the deal"

"wow i cant believe i fucked eight people at this convention, how cool so many people want me"

"i've never tried this sex act before, i guess i might as well. maybe itll be useful for my writing. maybe ill like it."

thats the kind of shit that is normally playing around in my mind. when im actually attracted to someone i dont have to come up with some weird intellectual justification for why fucking is interesting or rewarding or reflective of me in a positive way. i just NEED it.

the self help guru mark manson (who is a little corny, but not bad) has this age old advice that "either something is a FUCK YES! or it's a no." and i think for some people, especially people who tend to try and persuade/guilt themselves into wanting things they dont actually want, that is a worthwhile reorientation. if i actually want someone its pretty damn unambiguous. if i have to even ask myself or sort out the true nature of my feelings, im bullshitting myself.

granted this advice wont be best for demisexuals, or for lots of other people. sometimes experimenting and trying new things sexually is great! its just. ive been doing that for a long time. i have been a very open minded, open to experience individual. and now im interested in being picky for a while

[carlos-in-glasses]

I'm having some thoughts and feelings, for reasons.

The feelings are that I'm so grateful for this beautiful fandom and the beautiful couple in the picture above. The thoughts are beneath the read more and can be taken or left. The picture cannot be left, however. Taken is the only option. You need to see it because look how cute they are!

For prosperity:

Something I always 'explore', if you will, in my own writing is how people process the concept of time. Endings, beginnings, the past and the future linking up. Your past self always being with you like a spectre. The present feeling like a marble rolling around a tube... I think this is because I'm not good with change or saying goodbye, but I do know that endings always lead to something else. Which is scary, because you don't necessarily know what that will bring.

Thinking about all of the above in terms of Lone Star is a different beast for me personally, because I've never had this kind of experience with a show or characters before, where I'm so compelled by it that I found my way into the fandom and have been creatively stimulated to the point of writing 25+ fics for it (which isn't nearly as many as others have produced! But to me it feels significant). So for that reason I want to say: When the show ends -(WHENEVER THAT MAY BE) - the characters don't. They don't end, not really. As long as we choose to keep talking about the themes, sharing meta posts, writing them or drawing them or creating gif sets, and revisiting them in rewatches or YouTube clips - there they are. Always. Either suspended in their moment and so easy to revisit in all their glory, or put in new situations in fic and art even years into the future. If this hiatus has taught us anything, it's that even without the show on air, there are still plenty of stories to tell and interpretations to be had, based on what came before. When the show ends, the thing that will unfortunately go is the speculation aspect, but what we have instead is a beautiful completed work that can inspire and be meaningful forever to those who already love it and for those who will find it in the future - and it will be found. Anything that exists can be found. (See: deep sea fish that glow in the dark (!)). And things that don't exist can be imagined.

We're so lucky to be the ones in the know when it comes to the show and to Tarlos. We know how special it is, what a gift it is. I'm not a spiritual person but I do feel oddly spiritual when it comes to this. Idk.

Something I've always hoped (as I'm sure we all have) is that we would know ahead of time that it's over. The show not being renewed between seasons is a thought that horrifies me to my core. I remember thinking towards the end of season 4: "At least if it doesn't get renewed, it ends with Tarlos being canon-married." Which, as a Tarlos super-fan, was my no.1. concern, but I love and care about the other characters too of course.

Going into season 5 and fearing it could be the last season, I had a huge tummy ache wondering if Tarlos would be on the rocks. If they ended on a cliffhanger having assumed season 6 was on the cards, we'd never get a resolution. But Rafa's Cameos have really eased my mind in that regard. Based not only on the tiny amount he's given away, but the way he talks about them loving each other, it sounds like they're going to be okay - and we're going to see it for ourselves that Tarlos really is endgame. In a time when hope is needed, we do have this. AND we have each other! As long as Tarlos ends happy, I for one intend to keep dancing, even if it means I'm the eccentric up on the table on my own doing the robot. But I would always like others to dance with.

Whatever happens, which we don't officially know yet, we can get through it together.

#Cig personal #❤️ #Tarlos