#you can try all you want to avoid confrontation but sometimes it's not your choice. and then you're pushed to the breaking point

[undercoverpena]

the games we play

Javier Peña x F!Reader

wc: 4k warnings: angst, ex-lovers back to lovers, one bed trope, alludes to smut, but no actual smut, set in narcos season two. summary: He welcomes every touch, every dig of your nail and every placement of your palm. He takes every minute you give him as they turn into hours.  written for @wildemaven and @wildemaven-prompts week 8 [this was meant to be short, i don't know what happened] javier peña masterlist

Sometimes, the heat in Colombia is gentle. 

He has found there can be a breeze, a small break from the sun’s touch. It blows against his shirt and swings against the skirts of dresses. 

Other times, it’s not so gentle. It can be stifling, and suffocating. It lays itself thickly on top of the weight of catching Escobar, bearing down on the uncomfortable tension from being beside someone he’s trying to avoid. 

It makes things worse. 

Tense. Unbearable. 

Like it is today, where the heat and the day have been testing him. Hanging over them, making even breathing strenuous, not allowing him to think straight, and causing his logic and reason to be difficult to grasp.

But then, being around you makes holding onto many things difficult. Made worse by the fact you’re only speaking to him when necessary. Memories of their argument flitting in and out, a constant reminder like a foot on his neck—pressing its weight down more and more. 

Boni— Do not touch me, do not look at me. Actually. Keep out of my way, Peña. I don’t… I don’t want to see you, never mind hear you. 

He’s frustrated—angry. The lead they’d been sent for had fizzled into dust and ash by the time the plane had even lifted off. Leaving them with nothing when they landed. Just some files, misty assumptions and corruption—things he could have examined behind his desk on base. 

Now, the two of you are stuck here. 

The storm brewing in the sky, darkening in the distance—ruining his chance of getting home, away from you. 

It’s why he’s been running his thumb over his two fingers—the other hand massaging the side of his skull. Desperate to ease the tension in his head, the dull ache he has from fighting all his normal reactions.

Your perfume has been wearing him down further. Intensifying in the heat and humidity the storm is causing, all prickling and ready to crash over the city. 

It’s not that one he’s worried about, it’s the one crackling between the two of you. 

It takes more than what he has left, to block it out, to pretend he’s unfazed. 

Normally, he’s happy to be off base. To be in any bed that isn’t that one. But, it’s needling him that he’s here for another night, sitting in failure, knowing there’s nothing he can do about it. From all angles, he is confronted with his mistakes—the dwindling leads, the choices he’s made, and the way he’s hurt you. 

Each time you allow your eyes to meet his, he sees it. Dancing, ever so gently in your irises, even if you try to blink them away. 

He hears you sigh. Hears it over his thoughts, his faux ignorance and forced focus. Having spent more energy than he likes on trying to keep cool, avoid what you’re saying—very quickly, and very fucking loudly—and the feeling of the beads of sweat which pool at the base of his spine. 

If he’s uncomfortable, he can’t envision you are faring much better. Your trousers are tightly fitted, cupping your curves to the point it’s been distracting. Your blouse, though elegant and flowing in places, is also long-sleeved—as if by covering as much skin as possible, he wouldn’t want to look at you. 

Not realising it’s your eyes and smile he fell for first. 

Not that you’re talking to him. In a way, it’s a blessing. He doesn’t need to scramble for an answer, bathe it in politeness before he shoots it your way. He can be sharp and bitter in his mind. Like he had been when you’d mentioned finding a motel to stay the night in. 

You’d apologised to him in English—as if all of this had been your fault—that he would have to stay around you for another day. Something knotting inside of him, desperately wanting to claw out and tell you that he likes being around you, and doesn’t want your apologies. 

He doesn’t say that. He said nothing. 

Now you’re trying to find them a room. Lifting his head, allowing himself a glance at you through his brows, watching as your hand lands on your hip as you continue to question and plead. 

Occasionally, he lets himself hone in on the odd word. Spanish rolling from your tongue with such ease. On any other day, he’d hang off your every word. Now, he tries to block you out as much as possible, fearing the way his mind conjures memories of sounds you made. The sweet ones only he pulled from you. 

The ones he no longer deserves. 

It’s why he hides from you, and buries himself away in a cave of his own making to keep a handle on himself and not ruin whatever is left between you both.  

He’s only just got you back as his colleague. Only just being able to talk to him about work without looking like you’re about to implode. 

Again, not that he blames you. He replays it, turning it over the fight. It flashes like lightning across his thunderous thoughts, clouded images of your sad face that twisted into fury, how your words slowly began to cut, laced with blades.  

Fuck you, Peña. I didn’t ask for this—I knew, I knew you’d do this. And you promised me you wouldn’t hurt me, and yet… you did, you have. 

His thumb slides over the pads of his fingers, catching the calluses and the healed scars. He keeps going, churning your words, over and over, not sure if he’ll be ever able to burn them from his mi—

“Javi…”

Opening his eyes, he finds you. 

Your fingers holding his arm, his own slowly unpeeling themselves from his skull. 

“I… I’ve been calling you for a minute.” 

Javi. You haven’t called him that for a while. Having chosen to call him Peña or fucker—and if necessary, Javier. Javi is what you called him before. When the two of you blurred the lines of colleagues and stepped close to being something more. 

Something he couldn’t give you. Something he tore in two because, of course, he did. 

Tilting your head, you frown, little creases in an otherwise smooth pool. “You good?” 

He drops his hand, half expecting your fingers to fall from him. But they remain. 

Not on the part covered by his short sleeve, but his skin. Skin that he is sure is already warm, but with you touching him, feels like an inferno. Your little prints burning into him, reminding him you’re solid, real—not a fantasy his mind had cruelly conjured to taunt him. 

Rubbing his arm, you offer a smile. “We’re both tired—our flight isn’t for a while, and this place has one room. So.”

You’re too fucking good for me, Bonita.  Yeah, Peña. I fucking am. Yet, here I am and here you are. I shouldn’t be.  Javi, what is going off… why are you here, why are you picking a fight with me, why are you hurting me for the sake of hurting me?

His silence is making it worse. 

He can feel it, see it. How there’s ripples under your mask. Concern bubbling to the surface, making things for him also float to the top. The need to make you smile, to make you laugh—to put you at ease and keep you safe. 

Javi has had those thoughts since the moment he first talked to you. Your spark and fire caught him by surprise, the way you wiggled your hips as you left him at the coffee machine rendering him more than useless. 

If they’re going to be able to survive the night, he has to bury it all. Stuff it so far down, swallowing back everything. It takes a lot to fill his lungs because of it, the air burning his throat as does so, keeping his eyes on you.

Forcing a twist of his lips, he stares into your eyes. Boldly. Maybe too boldly. “You trying to get me to bed, Bonita?” 

You scoff, slowly dropping your hand from his skin, holding the key up in the other. “No. But, knowing you, I know that wouldn’t be hard.”

He feels the space before he truly notices it. How you’d taken a step back, allowing air to flood between you both like a barricade. Then you turn, giving him your back as you jolt your head in the direction of the room. 

He’d looked past the bright pink, looked past the rusting railings because he had envisioned there would be two beds. 

Not exactly imagining in all the Spanish you’d been spitting that you’d have asked for one bed. 

But, there wasn’t. There wasn’t even a couch. Nothing. Just one double bed, two puffed pillows and a folded towel swan at the bottom. 

The room itself isn’t nice either. Bright shades and fuchsia pinks, all matching the chipped wooden door and the horrid railings outside. A part of him wonders why he thought it would be better inside. 

You brush past him, placing your bag down on the end of the bed. If you mind about the room, you say nothing.

Not about the soaring heat, the one bed or that you’re now sharing a room with him. He wants to ask, ensure you’re comfortable—that you don’t mind him being here. 

Not entirely sure what he’d do if you said no. 

You’ve only just begun talking to him directly, and not through Steve. Steve who had warned him and he hadn’t listened. “She’s good, Javi. Don’t fuckin’ ruin it by being you”. And he had. Trapping Steve in the middle until you begun to wear thin with Chinese whispers. It took so long, he almost forgot how to speak when you finally were able to string a sentence together without looking close to stabbing him. 

Javi knows he only has himself to blame. He’s aware of it—feeling it thrumming around him, whether or not your eyes cut into him. 

Look, you don’t want me, that’s fine. I’m a big fucking girl. But you don’t get to sniff around like some wounded fuck because someone else does. You don’t get to turn up when I’m enjoying myself and ruin it. 

If anything, Javi is used to making things worse in his personal life. He knows that he’s good with his hands, but not his words. That if you asked he could build you furniture, or put up a shelf; he knows how to please you, pull noises and expressions from you with his tongue alone. If he wasn’t so broken, he could be good for you. Not good enough, but be good. 

But, he isn’t. 

“You need the bathroom?” 

He looks up, finding you holding a smaller bag. “N-no. You go ahead.” 

You nod, motioning past him as he clears his throat. Wiping his bottom lip, he adds, “Look, tonight you have the bed—“

“Or, we can be adults and you can share a bed with me…” 

He swallows, watching you pause at the bathroom door, standing a little taller. 

Something he’s noticed you do more and more, having not been able to take his eyes off you. Not that he ever really has, since he met you. Watching the way you move around, the way you purposefully avoid even the space he’s in.

Fuck, you were maddening. Beautifully maddening to the point now, when he couldn’t have you, you have consumed everything. 

He deserves it, deserves worse—he deserves poisonous words and sharper glares. 

Now, though, you aren’t giving him that. Your look is more gentle. One he used to get, before…

“Peña, do you want this to be even more unbearable… and if you want to punish yourself, fine, sleep on the floor,” you sigh, swallowing the rest of your words as you lift your shoulders. “But, I’m not asking you to. If you want to be an adult, share the damn bed with me.”

His lips twitch, his hands moving to his hips. “You sure… about sharing the bed?” 

You offer a small smile, one that’s forced, but still there. “You know I don’t bite.” 

“You do kick, though.” 

You laugh, sharp—almost blending perfectly with a puff of air. “Don’t you forget it, either.”

“Wouldn’t dare, Bon…”

He lets the words trail off. The pet name he calls you comes too easily to his tongue. Dissolving into the air, feeling your eyes wash over him before the click of the bathroom door sounds. 

He can smell your shampoo. It’s that which stirs him from his sleep. 

He peers from the corner of his eyes, noticing the room is still smothered in half-darkness—the motel lighting blaring through the shit, thin curtains. 

The scent continues to tickle his nose. It’s a small respite from the smell of spice from the room service hours ago. The food hanging as heavy in the air as it made him feel when he consumed it. 

It takes a second, maybe a second too long, to realise you’re curled into him. He feels your breath dancing along his chest, realising his arm is around you, keeping you in place—chin on top of your head, just like the two of you have done with ease before. 

Just like the first time, your bodies betrayed you both then, as they are now. 

You stained him, imprinted on him. Made it easier to sleep, your warmth has never been too much, but always the perfect amount. Your head is never too heavy, but a weight he welcomes. And has missed. 

Get in the car.  No, fuck you. You’re the one who said this wasn’t serious. Bonita, get in the—  You have no right, Javi. Take your chivalry and your car, and go fuck yourself. 

He feels you move your hips closer, brushing over his other hand. It allows him, without trying, to fan his fingers more over your hip. Feeling the softness of your skin, the curve of you—his fingers lightly, and gently squeezing. 

It’s experimental, full of unsureness. Something he’s never known for, but you make him a wreck. 

Make him question things. Make him want things he’s not craved in a long time. 

So he begins sliding his fingers over your hip, unsure if you’re awake. The thin oversized tee you’re sporting is the only barrier from your chest being flush against his, raised above your hip, his fingers catching the hem of it occasionally. 

He should put space between the two of you. Should unfurl himself from you before you wake and realise what is happening. 

Before he sees that look in your eye. The one a perfect blend of ice and betrayal—topped off with a slice of hurt. He breaks good things, he’s realised. He doesn’t deserve nice souls and a person waiting for him. He’s impatient, selfish and… making so many wrong decisions. 

It’s why he hasn’t challenged it, your decision. 

Why he stood and said nothing when you hurled abuse at him in the street. He took each verbal punching, knowing the things he’s doing—knowing the danger he’d have been putting you in. 

That night, when you didn’t answer. You weren’t at Steve’s were you? Were you?  No. 

He’s been haunted by you outside of work, not just in it. Images of you, scarlet staining your clothes, limbs bent in ways they should never be. Either that or you appear in his head when he’s in the shower, when his hand is on someone else’s bare hip, frustrated they don’t feel or sound like you, frustrated he can’t finish because he misses you. Misses how good you feel, how you make him feel. 

Javi has spent more energy trying to fuck you from his system than he had done trying to keep you in it originally. Something he is more aware of right now, than he was on all the other lonely nights.

It’s why he doesn’t dare move, almost afraid as to what he’ll be confronted with if he wakes you. If your eyes would be murderous, burning a new print for him to hang in the misery museum he’s forged in his head. 

Whether they’d be soft… almost worrying if they’d be welcoming, not sure he’ll be able to be selfless and noble again. 

He should remove his hand. He should place the blanket, which neither of you wants to have over you, firmly between you. Barricade himself from you, stop you from falling and him being unable to catch you. 

Your breath dances over his chest, and he strokes ever so slightly on your hip. 

“Is now when you’d want me to bite, Javi?”

Your voice is a whisper. 

But he hears them as clear as if you’d shouted them. 

You let them land before you lift your face from his neck. You’re so close, the gap so minimal, so easy to close. 

He tenses, for the briefest moment, because of it.

“Bonita…”

“Kiss me, Javi.” 

He has you on your back before his name is even in the air, crashing his lips against yours, hearing the surprised muffled sound bleeding out from between both of your mouths. 

It unlocks it, everything he’s stuffed into the box in his chest. His hand sliding up your neck to grip your jaw, the bed groaning as he leans down over you, kissing you desperately—needing to make up for all the minutes he didn’t. He devours, he thirsts, and he wants all at once as he slides his hand up your thigh, lifting it over his hip. 

Thankfully you pull him close, tight—leaving no space for question or doubt. Your hands loop around the back of his neck, nails scratching at the base of his hair as your thighs press against his hips. 

His teeth run along your jaw, the tip of his tongue leaving evidence of his path. Your soft murmurs, pleases and Javi’s circling around the two of you. 

All he can think is: you taste like sweet, sugar and goodness. It’s a juxtaposition to his smokes, to the liquor normally on his tongue. Another reminder of how good you are, the cracks you proclaim you have so minimal, he barely sees them. 

He just sees you. 

Strong, beautiful you, who has a sharper tongue than most suits; a hook that forces blue and black to spread before someone even knows they’ve been hit. You’re all brains and strategy, and yet you’re also the most intoxicating thing he’s ever undressed. 

And so, he cages you in, unwilling, and unwanting to ever let someone else taste what he gets to. Keeping you close right now as though it can undo all the times he’s taken you for granted.  

“Mine,” he whispers against your neck. 

Unmeaning to. The word escaping. Making him freeze and you tense. He’s nervous, for the billionth time when he’s with you, he’s nervous as he meets your gaze. 

What he finds isn’t shock, but slight narrowed eyes and twisted swollen lips all illuminated in a reddish-pink hue from the outside. 

Tracing your knuckles down his cheek, your back arches into him, tracing your bottom lip with your tongue. “Prove it then.” 

And he does. 

His mouth tastes every inch of you, his ears take in every noise he hadn’t been sure he’d ever hear again. He welcomes every touch, every dig of your nail and every placement of your palm. He takes every minute you give him as they turn into hours. 

But, what he savours is the way you beg for more, how you chant his name. How your hand holds his jaw, muffling your moans against his lips as he fills you—feeling pride ballooning in his chest as you moan his name over and over again. 

Javi isn’t sure how much sleep the two of you manage. Not that he cares, and not that you’re complaining either. He groans when you slide from his arms, the sun rearing its ugly head through the curtains.

You smirk, and it does something to him as you begin getting ready. Something which makes him want to throw back the sheets and put you on your back again.

But you must read him—see right into his head. Not that he fights you to stay out. 

“We have a flight to catch.” 

“We still have time.” 

“Not the way we do it, we don’t.” 

So he relents. Choosing instead to watch you. Take in every glimpse of you he can get. Watching as you style and dress in the mirror, eyes occasionally meeting him as he feels himself smile. 

He wants to suggest not leaving, for a moment not wanting to entertain what goes off outside of these walls. He could rip up the tickets for their flights and keep the room for another night. Avoid the issues back where they work. The pressure, Escobar… Los Pepes. 

Javi doesn’t do that. Moving closer to you, half-wanting to just pull you close. Feel the way you fit against him, how perfect you do. 

He runs his hand down your wrist, wrapping his fingers around the strap of your bag. Lingering in your space, watching your lips curl, seeing the outline of himself in your lusting eyes as he presses you against the wall. 

“Javi…” 

“We have time, Bonita. I promise,” he whispers in Spanish, dropping your bag softly as he slides his hands around your hips. 

You don’t fight him. 

Sliding your arms around his neck, lips ghosting over his before you blink—and something shifts. 

“Javi… Look, before we get back and things… get complicated. I don’t want more from you than we can both give. My job, I love my job, Javi. I know you do too, I know you need to catch him...”

It’s changing, switching up in front of him. 

“What are you saying?” 

It comes out more defensive—tense. Suddenly feeling you're slipping through his fingers, for reasons far out of his control. For reasons he hasn't even caused.

He watches as you bite the inside of your cheek. “I don’t want you to bring me coffee, I don't want dinners and... I just want the us we were before, without the…”

You’re stressed. He can feel it. It vibrates in the air until he smooths his fingers over your cheek, soothing you in the only way he can.

“It’s okay…”

“I want to be yours, Javi. But, I don’t want us to change, not while we have things to do.” 

Placing his hand on your hip, he watches as your lips twitch. 

His pulse quickens, watching you take a heavy breath. “I know we don’t have more to give one another until he’s caught. And I’m okay with that. As long as…”

It trails off, your words. Your eyes glare as if you can burn the unspoken words in without needing to say them. 

He make you feel good, Bonita? Did he— You don’t get to act jealous when you were cock deep in a whore when I needed you, Javier. 

“Long as, what, Bonita?” 

You avert your eyes.

And he knows before you ask. He remembers it. Recalls seeing the number of missed calls and realising that you’d needed him. The hurt on your face, the look in your eyes.  

“Please don’t fuck any more whores. You called me yours last night, Javi. So don’t—“

“Only if you don’t go on any more dates with fuckers who don’t deserve you,” he says, fingers under your chin as he lifts your eyes back. 

Please. He adds with his eyes. 

You hold his gaze, slowly nodding before you softly smile. One he likes to think is all his. It holds his attention when it’s there, lighting him up, and spreading warmth through him.  

Both sitting in silent agreement, his fingers softening on your chin as he draws a line with his thumb. 

“If we do this, you and me, there can’t be secrets between us. Not like before.” 

Something twists inside of him. 

“I was the one who stole your cigarettes,” you confess, his eyes narrowing teasingly, as you pout. 

He kisses you, soft, and gentle. “I’ll forgive you.” 

“Your turn, is there anything you need to tell me before we leave?”

His face blanks—empties. The bundle of secrets swirl in his stomach, knotting around organs and guilt and the salty chips and chocolate from last night. 

For a moment, he thinks about it. Spilling all of it out, poisoning the moment and ruining what the two of you have only just managed to rebuild. His lips part ever so slightly, almost allowing the acidic ball in his throat to escape. It's all set to slip out and greet your ears. 

But he swallows it. Hides it. 

Shaking his head, he leans his forehead against yours. “Only that I’ve missed you, Bonita.”

Your hand clutches his cheek, cupping him gently. “I’ve missed you too, Javi.” 

#javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javi peña x reader #javi peña x you #javi peña x f!reader #javier peña narcos #javier peña #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena #narcos x reader #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal x reader #javier peña fanfiction #javi peña fanfiction #javi peña narcos #narcos javier x reader #narcos javier #narcos fic #pedro pascal characters

[inspector-constable]

Aziraphale and the Gray Area: Why is he like that though

Good omens season 2 spoilers ahead

One of the things religious trauma gave me is a strong sense of right vs. wrong. The idea that there is always a right way to do things or a right course of action, and to not do things that way is simply wrong. This is more than just feeling afraid of being punished for doing the wrong thing; it feels like part of my identity. I think of myself as a good person, so I want to do good things and I want to do the right thing. If I choose to do the wrong thing, I lose myself and I lose what I value in myself. Sometimes it’s a good thing to feel like this, it’s what led me away from a religion that preached hate. Sometimes it’s not such a good thing, because I can hurt people by trying to do the right thing, or by trying to put my personal sense of morals onto other peoples’ situations. I have been picking through my beliefs for over a decade trying to confront and dismantle the harmful ones. It’s a painful process and it takes a long, long time.

How much longer must it take for a literal angel, a servant of God? We have the pleasure of seeing this process in Aziraphale through the ages, and it’s a lot slower than fans want it to be. I think people see Aziraphale in his moments in the gray area - lying, disobeying orders, being a bastard, enjoying human food, and loving and trusting a demon - and they think that he must be just fine with being in the middle: mostly right, a bit wrong, very human. But that characterization oversimplifies and misses Aziraphale’s true nature.

The sense of justice and good vs. evil is central to who Aziraphale is. He is not just another angel following commands; he is doing what he truly thinks is right no matter what the consequences may be. He ends up being quite a bit more good and loving than any of the other angels we meet, because he isn’t okay with doing what he knows is wrong. He knows it innately, but also he knows it because of what he was taught. When you’re taught that hate and violence and greed is wrong, but then you see hate and violence and greed being perpetuated by your teachers, you start to wonder where that dividing line really is.

That’s where the gray area comes in. When Aziraphale gives away his sword, he’s aware it’s not technically the right thing to do, but decides it is the actual right thing to do to protect Eve and Adam and their child. Same as when he lies to the angels about Job’s children, only this time instead of fudging the truth and avoiding the confrontation, he has to make a direct choice to do something that is technically wrong - lying - in order to avoid doing something he really, really knows is Wrong - murder. In this case, he’s not okay with lying despite it being wrong, he’s okay with lying because it is the right thing to do. It still causes a large amount of internal conflict when he thinks he will be sent to Hell for disobeying, but that fear of punishment didn’t stop him from doing what he thought was good.

For Aziraphale, the gray area is not about being a little bit evil, it’s about fudging the Rules and disobeying authority in order to remain completely good. Since Crowley is in the gray area with him, surely Crowley must be in the same boat of wanting to do the Right thing. Throughout thousands of years of history Aziraphale never stops arguing the side of Good, trying to convince Crowley to do the right thing. Sometimes he finds that Crowley was actually right all along, and then Aziraphale can feel safe to align himself with whatever the demon is doing. Sometimes Aziraphale even tries to convince Heaven to do the right thing with him. During Armageddon, Aziraphale avoids telling Crowley the truth because he thinks it would be better to get Heaven to stop doing the wrong thing. And he’s right, a lot of problems would be solved and life would be easier if Heaven would listen to Aziraphale and stop inflicting their harmful views on the world. 

It would be nice if Aziraphale would realize, at the end of the first season, that Heaven is not interested in being good or even being right; they just want to win. Aziraphale is too naive and pure to believe that of Heaven. After everything, he still wants to be an angel, and he still wants to be part of a Heaven that is doing good. What he did at the end of season 2 is not at all out of character for him. It makes perfect sense that he would want to take the opportunity to change Heaven for the better. Anyone can see what a delightful place it would be with Aziraphale making the decisions. Angels could drink hot chocolate and stack books in their offices or pop down to Earth to go to the theater. Humans could live without worrying about Armageddon or the Great Plan or having their lives destroyed over a bet. And demons (or at least one specific one) who were good and loving could be forgiven and become angels again so they don’t have to be forced to carry out evil acts and always be looking over their shoulders. 

Aziraphale didn’t do what he did because he doesn’t accept or love who Crowley is. He just genuinely believes that Crowley is still an angel deep down and that Heaven is where he belongs, where he could be the most happy. A better Heaven, where Crowley could create stars to last millions of years and put anything he wanted in the suggestion box. Aziraphale wanted to create a life for them to be together without any more worry of secret meetings, gray areas, and war. When Crowley rejected that life, it broke Aziraphale’s view of Crowley and his goodness. As ridiculous as it sounds, Aziraphale never expected that Crowley wouldn’t jump at the chance to be an angel with him again, and now his perception of their relationship is shaken. 

Ultimately, Aziraphale can’t be so selfish as to choose to run away with the being he loves, when he knows he can do so much more good if he returns to Heaven. And so in trying to do the right thing for everyone, Aziraphale does the wrong thing for Crowley and himself. This is what is so hard about Aziraphale’s gray area; it cuts both ways. He has so much learning and unpacking to do, and I’m afraid he’s going to find that he will have much less power to change Heaven than he thought. All we can do is beg for a third season and then Wait and See.

#just my thoughts #writing this to try to heal myself after the finale #tv review #good omens #good omens season 2 #good omens spoilers #good omens season 2 spoilers #gos2spoilers #gos2 spoilers #aziraphale #michael sheen #religious trauma #exvangelical #character study

[infinite-orangepeel]

Behind every shitty hole in the wall is a story.

It’s a hysterical combination of luck and determination that lands Eddie Munson in the back alley of a dive bar five years after the world was supposed to end.

It's by chance alone that Steve Harrington is snuffing out a cigarette under his boot. Eyes fixated on a useless point in the distance. Off into space or wandering no man’s land. Distracted and distraught.

He’s never been the same.

He’s never known how to come back home.

He’s punishing himself. Has been for half a decade.

It’s the first anyone’s seen of him, since—

There’s a smudge of grease or soot or black makeup outlining his cheek. There’s gel in his hair—sticky and functional. He’s tangible. Real—somehow. Dusting ash off on his dirtied pants and trying to make the most of a blasphemously humid afternoon.

He wipes sweat from his brow bone, breathes deeply, seems to come to terms with the harsh underbelly of reality.

The sky is orange; afflicted by caustic heat. He doesn’t belong in a place like this. It’s time to bring him home once and for all. Of that, at least, Eddie is certain.

Eddie isn’t certain of much these days. None of them are. Not since Steve left and took their bleeding hearts with him like a dissolute trail of breadcrumbs.

Every moment without him has been spent painfully avoiding the mention of his absence. Setting his place at the dinner table was a habit they all had to unlearn, but sometimes Robin will forget—put out a plate and fracture at the realization.

And, then, the evening is ruined. The evening becomes a sinking ship. Blurry conversations swirling around how to convince him to come back. How to see it through. How to show him he has a God-given right to nestle into their world without making desperate apologies. There’s no need.

The desert’s on Steve’s side. Thinks it can outsmart Eddie by parching his lips, cracking the skin around them, drying out his tongue like the package of liquor store jerky he anxiously gnawed on while driving into town. Kicking up arid soil with his tires and blinding himself to fear—to the voices in his head that tell him to let Steve sulk and suffer in silence, because he’s the one who chose to leave in the first place.

It was a choice.

A fucking stupid choice, but a choice nonetheless—

Steve’s going to go back inside. He’s got a dish towel tucked into his apron pocket. A toothpick replacing the fallen cigarette between his teeth. Eddie’s been trying to muster up the courage to actually approach him for the past three days.

It always ends the same.

Steve’s fifteen minute break comes to a close, he disappears through the door on stage left to clock back in, and, as if looking through a broken kaleidoscope, the scene around Eddie fades into colorless obscurity. Everything else is void of meaning. Without Steve in the picture, life makes little sense. There’s no point. No clear way North.

He’d rather die than go through it again. The loss. Decay. Heartache and rage.

“Have you told your boss about the family emergency yet or do you need me to take care of that for you?” Eddie snarks, hiding his emotions behind a practiced smirk.

Steve looks up. Hand on the door. Stuck between two universes. One in which he hides and another in which he allows himself to be found.

“What are you talking about?” He chokes on a peach pitted fantasy in which he gets to briefly wake up and hit snooze–rub the sleep from his tired eyes, “Why are you—Eddie, you’re not supposed to be here. How the fuck did you find me?”

There’s uncertainty afoot. His chest rises and falls in shaky hesitation. One beat slow followed by two in rapid pace—standard procedure for someone who's been forced to confront his past in broad daylight. Out of the blue and into the unknown. Eddie wants to pin him to the wall and kiss him—drown his sorrows so he never has to feel them again.

But, it’s not time for that.

Not yet.

“Is someone hurt? Is it one of the kids? Robin? Nance?”

Eddie feels cruel for planting that seed in his brain so he cuts him some slack. Pushes past his own frustration, devastation, the scars on his torso that ache when he twists this way or that—reminders of who he was before.

“Everyone’s fine. Healthy and safe at home,” he swallows the gasp that wants to come out when Steve releases the handle on the door—when Steve makes the conscious decision to stay, if only for a moment, “You, however, won’t be, if you don’t march right up to your manager and let him know that you’re gonna have to throw in the towel a little early on this shift. We have plans and—unfortunately, for the big boss—they can’t wait.”

“I don’t understand—”

He starts to say and Eddie can’t help, but soften. Can’t help, but fall apart under his pretty eyes and pouty lips. Gaze catching and tugging on his heart strings when he notices the hint of Steve’s own scars lining his neck. Temporarily exposed by the breeze shifting the collar of his work shirt. Hidden unless you know where to look.

Eddie’s always known.

“Do you know how hard it is to say ‘no’ to a guy who looks like you—especially when there’s a sob story attached to that face?” He leans forward, exhales softly as Steve’s lashes flutter out of control, and bites the opposite end of his toothpick—stealing it and sucking it into his own mouth, “You have a family emergency. You have somewhere to be. You’ll be back tomorrow or you won’t—that part’s up to you. Knock ‘em dead, sweetheart. Go on. It’ll all make sense later. Just need you to trust me for now.”

He thinks of the bats. Of the fight. Flashes of the unforgiving war. The smoke and mirrors and nightmares that never fully went away. The cold sweat and salty tears. Memories that no one can verify, because time and space have made them intangible. Like monsters under the bed. Creatures that stalk the house in the wee hours of the morning. By dawn, they disappear, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t real.

There’s no confirming or denying. Steve doesn’t nod or give a final answer with his hand hovering over a big red buzzer. Instead, he moves forward, steps through the door, doesn’t look back over his shoulder to contemplate if Eddie was a figment of his imagination. Leaves without a trace.

Like he was never really there.

Like he’s a ghost haunting the untethered planes of Eddie’s memory.

—

When Steve climbs into the back of Eddie’s van, it’s comical.

He bangs his head on the roof. Mutters a curse or two. Almost tips himself backwards hopping into the passenger’s seat. The van shakes with laughter—amused by the boy who has grown out of his old polos and button downs, but has somehow managed to maintain his childish humor. Slipping back into an old tattered suit and finding it’s still tailored perfectly to his measurements.

“Are you kidnapping me? Is that what this is?”

“Pretty sure kidnapping implies taking a ‘child’ against their will,” he smirks at Steve rubbing the back of his head, “You don’t fit into either of those categories by my estimation. Try not to get any blood on my seats. I just got this baby washed—I mean, sure, it was ten years ago, but—”

Eddie slings his arm around the back of Steve’s headrest. Talking a lot of smack for someone who feels as protective over his aggravated passenger as he does. The van’s hot. There’s no A.C. It’s stuffy and awkward and all Eddie wants to do is kiss him.

All Eddie’s ever wanted to do is kiss him. Just once more. Once would surely be enough to quench a thirst that’s plagued him for five long years.

“People would come looking for me, y’know. I have friends. People in town who would notice…eventually,” Steve snaps, but his heart’s not in it. Sounds like a luckless penny hitting the bottom of a dried up wishing well.

“Well, you’re worth caring about,” Eddie feels the edge of a splinter graze his tongue off the toothpick, “Always have been. Shouldn’t be such a surprise.”

It’s too honest. God, he knows, it’s too honest.

Steve doesn’t say anything. Eddie half expects him to throw a punch.

A few miles pass and the only interruptions to the weight of their shared silence are the bumpy groan of a shallow pothole and the lonely howl of a coyote on the horizon.

Maybe he's been separated from his pack—

The thought is almost too much to bear.

“How’s business?” Eddie tries to change the subject, turn back the clock, pretend it’s just another weekday on the way home from school.

“Does it matter?”

“Guess that all depends on if you’re planning to stick around this dust bowl or not, but I don’t think you’ve quite made up your mind one way or the other.”

They’re almost to Eddie’s hotel. He can see the flashing bulbs of the sign down the road—The Saguaro Inn. It’s not the nicest establishment. The sheets have moth holes, he’s had to kill a spider or two, but the guy at the front desk gave him a six-pack of beer on the house and that, alone, was worth its weight in gold.

“Where else would I go? I live here. I work here. This is my home, now.”

If Eddie looked over and saw Steve running lines off a Hollywood script, he’d believe it. Authenticity evaporates from his voice like everything else that the blistering desert sun destroys in its wake. The only things meant to survive in such an unbearable climate are cacti, insanity, and dread.

Even the coyotes are lost and out of touch.

“Hmm. Funny,” Eddie raps his knuckles against the peeling steering wheel cover—needs to get it replaced, but in the face of an unearthed Steve Harrington it’s the last priority on his list, “We clearly remember things differently. As I recall, you’re a Midwestern boy. Born, bred, and raised on Indiana corn. Not whatever the Hell they serve at that dump you work at.”

“Fuck off. I’m happy,” Steve argues hotly, fists balled at his sides—tension working through his jaw like a flame on an inevitable collision course with the end of a stick of dynamite, “I’m fine. I’m not some damsel in distress who needs you to come rescue her. I chose this. I want this.”

It’s clear he doesn’t.

If only he had the wherewithal to look himself in the damn mirror and tell the truth. Tell it without leaving out the obvious—the lie written all over his face.

Steve undoes his apron, tosses it in the back, and throws a sidelong glance at Eddie as if sizing him up. As if searching for the minute details that have shifted, collapsed, grown in prominence. Like one of those ‘spot the difference’ games on a children’s menu in the back of an old diner. Illuminated by lightning bugs, grease, and splattered syrup.

Eddie doesn’t think he looks much different.

Eddie doesn’t think he’s much of anything to look at.

Old soul. Dark curls. A leather jacket that’s seen better days. He aims for mystery and shoots blanks. Comes up with mediocrity, a sense of macabre discontentment, the bitter taste that hangs around on the back of his tongue.

He practically jumps out of his skin and bolts when Steve, unexpectedly, runs a thumb over the Demobat scar on his cheek. It’s hyperreal. Throttles him through the past and future. Merging together hopes and dreams that he hasn’t allowed to see the light of day since those scars first got bandaged up at Hawkins Memorial Hospital.

“It suits you,” he hums thoughtfully, “I like it. Gives you an edge.”

Dizzy doesn’t even begin to define it.

In some universes, in this one, he might have fared better if Steve had the guts to hit him instead. To draw a knife, send a bullet flying, be a force of conventional violence rather than whatever the fuck this is.

This is worse.

This is a death he’ll keep reliving until the day he actually finds rest.

Or, perhaps, this is the afterlife and Steve is his eternal punishment for being stupid enough to care.

—

The short journey from the van to Eddie’s room is blissfully uneventful. Mundane.

They chat about vending machine snacks. Steve gets a candy bar and Eddie gets a pack of sour gummy worms. They split them. Share in the sugar coating, the sour bite, the milk chocolate that gets stuck in the backs of their teeth. It’s a dinner two little kids playing house would ‘cook’ up.

Only understanding later why their parents always advised them to save dessert for later. To end things on a sweet note.

Eddie’s room is 111 which prompts Steve to ask about El and the kids while he’s working at the keycard. The scanner’s finicky. Won’t budge unless the plastic’s inserted at just the right angle. It’s fucking annoying, but the place was cheap and, frankly, he didn’t know how long he’d be in town when he checked in.

He tells Steve about their accomplishments. Sounding like the proud father he never had—sounding like Wayne who made up for the lack of one. Max’s studying sport’s medicine at the community college. Dustin’s starting his summer engineering internship. Will’s got an art showcase coming up in October. Robin and Nancy’s new apartment is close to the city. Eddie crashes there most weekends and takes them out for coffee on Sunday mornings to show his thanks.

By the time Eddie’s done recounting the events Steve’s missed out on, their shoes are off. Tucked side by side next to the door.

Steve checks three times to ensure the latch is secure. Blushes when Eddie tells him its’ safe. Its’ okay to rest and close his eyes if he needs to.

Life isn’t what it used to be, but old habits die hard.

Eddie gives him the last gummy worm in the pack. Does it wordlessly. Automatically. Steve goes to decline, but Eddie does him a favor—closes his hand around it and nods.

It’s an act of love. It’s an act of faith. It’s the only way he can figure out how to say that bitter thing on the back of his tongue.

The mattress creaks obnoxiously to announce their arrival upon it. There’s a modest amount of space between them. Left vacant so their secrets have a place to run and hide. So they don’t have to speak them aloud.

“Do you ever miss it?” Eddie bumps Steve’s shin with his foot.

Cartoon sound effects curate the fantasy. Glowing orange and yellow from the rabbit eared television set—out of date and grainy, but that’s part of the appeal.

The screen casts desert colors across the headboard and suddenly, this is their life. A shared life. One they’ve built together. Nothing separates them anymore, but the itchy floral sheets and the inconvenience of clothes. Memory loses its ache.

“Which part?”

Steve looks at him through glassy eyes, marbles rolling across the floor.

“Whichever part you miss, I s’pose, if there is one,” Eddie shrugs and prays to a divine entity he doesn’t know the name of, “I’ve always wondered. ‘s hard not to.”

“Sometimes,” Steve reaches over the nightstand to grab a handful of ice—sets it on his chest over his shirt to cool off, “When I get off work. When I’m on the bus ride home and I’ve forgotten my headphones. Those times, I miss it—the sound of everyone talking over each other in Mike’s basement. It used to be like wrangling a bunch of wild animals. They drove me up the fuckin’ wall, but that sound? That sound was home. That sound was family, to me. No matter where I go, I don’t think I’ll ever find that again, but I was lucky to have it for a little while.”

“It’s not, like, that door over there,” Eddie points to the overly complicated latch that was designed to keep out intruders and cockroaches alike, “You’re not locked out unless you have a special key. The door—back home—it’s wide open. It always has been,” he studies Steve’s grimace; the evident pain he feels at that ‘too good to be true’ promise.

In the cartoon, it’s sunny. Steve’s bathed in a fictional variety of yellow optimism.

The character’s smile, laugh, and dance around in the middle of a playground. The swing’s never swing higher than they’re supposed to and conflict is resolved by the end of each thirty minute segment.

It’s a cruel juxtaposition to pay witness to as Steve’s cheeks become stained with tears. It hurts to see him curl up onto his side. To sit idly by as he goes about the wretched business of breaking his own heart.

“They’ve moved on, Eds. They’re onto bigger and better things. I’d just be holding everyone back. It’s okay.”

“It’s not—”

“Eddie,” Steve inches closer to him; knees knocking together—mirroring each other, “let it go. I’ve made my peace. Why can’t you do the same? Why can’t you let me–”

“Because, watching you leave was the single worst moment of my life. Worse than the bats. Worse than Vecna. Not a day goes by that I don’t replay it in my mind. Not a day goes by where I don’t think about what might have happened if I’d been brave enough to stop you.”

Kissing him is wrong.

Kissing him resolves none of it.

Kissing him tastes like sour gummy worms and chocolate and the satisfaction of finding a final resting place.

Kissing him is anger, spite, love.

Kissing him is the only thing that’s ever mattered and, maybe, that’s okay—

Steve startles. Keeps his lips perfectly still and Eddie thinks he’s really fucked this whole thing up, until he feels him break.

Until he feels him crack wide open like one of those novelty geodes Wayne used to bring back from his trips to mining country.

As the next episode begins and the cheesy theme song plays out in the background, Steve yanks Eddie towards him and sobs. They ground each other through twisted limbs, the rough meeting of lips, and the active avoidance of any moment outside of this.

They kiss and it’s both Heaven and Hell. It’s the promise of what could be and the mounting fear that the second they pull apart, the bonafide shelter they’ve created will crumble.

Steve whines openly. Sighs into Eddie’s mouth and slots a desperate knee between his thighs—a generous offering from a dead man walking.

Eddie grinds against it. Finally loses control. He rides Steve’s thigh in earnest—hips bumping, moans dripping from his lips like saccharine honey, cock throbbing and making a sticky mess in his boxers. Everything tastes like salt and sound and fury.

“Taste so good,” Steve licks over his mouth quickly, “Taste sweet. That part’s stuck with me—Eddie Munson’s real sweet.”

“You bit my tongue when we—”

“You probably deserved it,” Steve jokes and slaps his cheek playfully, “C’mon. Don’t stop. Kiss me, again. Want you to taste me like I taste you.”

He fucks his tongue into Steve’s mouth and the remembrance of a night he’s only been able to dream of, for the past five years, plays on.

He’s kissed Steve once before. Left a violet hickey on his neck. It was the end of June—concrete sizzled, mosquitoes swarmed, an ending should have been obvious, but it wasn’t.

They’d been scared. Afraid for the future. Afraid of how the past would follow them around in the shadow of tragedy. Afraid to press onwards, to lick over each other’s teeth, to make a mistake.

It’s different now.

Eddie doesn’t hold Steve like he’s fragile. He holds him like he believes he’s strong, because he is and he does. He’d have to be to start all over. To press restart in the middle of nowhere.

Steve’s hands roam his body ceaselessly. Wrinkle his clothes. Tug at his belt. He’s possessed by hope and the taboo Mirage and who can blame him? It’s gorgeous and awful.

“I haven’t touched anyone—” he cries, “I haven’t let anyone touch me since you kissed me on the night I left Hawkins. Remember? In my driveway–”

The confession sends a pang of agony racing through Eddie’s chest.

Nobody’s held him. Nobody’s kissed his neck and left behind a brutal memory. Nobody’s taken the time to wash the suds from his soft brown hair or dab the soap from his hazel eyes.

“Shh,” Eddie hushes him, laps at his tears and makes a split second decision, “I’ve never forgotten. How could I? I hardly ever think about anything else,” Steve whimpers from where he’s found a spot to rest his head in the crook of Eddie’s neck, “Shh, baby. Will you let me wash your hair? Will you let me help you clean off? Is that okay?”

Clinging to him and refusing to let go, Steve shudders and nods. Eddie knows this is significant for him—to relinquish the tired role of martyrdom and permit someone else to take care of him. To shoulder the responsibility with gentle hands.

Slack in his arms, Eddie carries him to the dim bathroom. The cartoon characters scramble around on screen—chasing each other around with hammers and wacky laughter.

When the water warms to the point of comfort, Eddie undresses the two of them in tandem.

First, Eddie’s shirt. Then, Steve’s. A breathy kiss in the interlude—they savor this practice. This delicate waltz. Their hands tremble. Steve’s shockingly sensitive. He breaks skin on Eddie’s shoulder when he circles his nipple and bites down just to tease.

“Nobody’s ever done that—”

“I don’t care about anyone else. No one. This is about me and you. Let me be the first. Don’t let there be anyone else. Me and you. Yeah?”

“Yes. Only you, Eds. No one else.”

“There’s my boy. My sweet, sweet boy.”

He cradles Steve’s sleepy face in his hands, pecks at the corners of his mouth as he helps him out of his classic Americana blue jeans. Levi’s or Lee. Brass buttons, deep pockets.

In the humid steam of the shower, they melt into each other. Eddie guides Steve to stand in front of him under the spray of the water and folds his arms around him. He strokes a hand over the flat plane of his stomach, toys with the pretty hair there, and sways with him to the tinny sound of the end credits. Conclusion. Finality. It is decidedly so.

He scrubs away the dirt, tears, grime, and misfortune with the prepackaged bar soap. Supplied by the manager at the front. Handed to him alongside the six pack and finicky roomkey. Steve lets Eddie rub out the knots in his shoulders. Thanks him unnecessarily as if this isn’t the greatest gift Eddie’s ever been given.

“Let’s do your hair, next,” Eddie presses lingering kisses to the column of his throat.

“I’d like that.”

The shampoo isn’t great. It’s in a miniature hotel bottle and opens with a snap. Smells like a pink petaled flower that would never survive this heat. Mildly delusional peonies with a whimsical flair.

“Tilt your head back. Rest on me,” Eddie whispers, flattening his palm over Steve’s heart—swearing an oath, “I’ve got you. I’m not gonna let you fall.”

He listens. Obeys readily. As if having waited his whole life to be instructed to do so.

“That feels nice,” he whines high in his throat while Eddie lathers the floral shampoo and works it through his hair, “Want more. Please, Eds. Please—more.”

“I’ll give you more, sweet boy,” he’s deliberate about the way he subtly scrapes against Steve’s scalp and tugs at the tendrils swooping around the nape of his pretty neck, “You’re so perfect,” he kisses his ear, nibbles on the lobe and revels in the resulting moan, “so kind, so smart, so lovable.”

Love—

Eddie wasn’t supposed to say love.

Shit.

He really wasn’t supposed to mention that.

“Fuck,” Steve sucks onto Eddie’s jaw—groaning and nipping along the full line of it, “Do you?”

“I’ve gotta rinse it,” he pretends to miss the question, “You can switch spots with me or–”

“Eddie,” Steve grinds his ass against Eddie’s dick and it’s no fucking accident, “I wanna come home. I wanna be yours. I don’t wanna be here anymore,” he turns so they’re face to face and Eddie sees Steve’s hard and leaking onto his hand where he’s lazily stroking himself as he crowds into Eddie’s space, “But, I need you to tell me. Do you love me? Do you love me the way I love you, because if you don’t—I can dry off, I can get my stuff, I can go back to the bar—”

“I love you—Jesus fucking Christ, Steve! Of course, I fucking love you! I’m not capable of loving anyone else! Don’t leave—”

“I won’t,” Steve caresses his cheek and wipes away his tears—the years of pent up heartache, “I love you.”

Breathless, Eddie’s back hits the cold tile wall and Steve’s fucking against him. Using the place where his hip meets his stomach to rub, press, and plead. Eddie grabs his hips, pulls him closer, gasps when he feels Steve spurt pre onto his pale skin.

“Say it again. Tell me why, so I believe it. So I know who to call when the voices in my head get too loud. So I can learn how to come home. Please, Eddie, please.”

Taking them both into his fist, Eddie pumps Steve’s dick alongside his own. Slow and steady. He thumbs the slit as Steve’s knees buckle. Grits his teeth and grins dumbly when his boy hisses at the heat and building friction.

“Honey, I dreamed of you. I ran after you a million times. I begged and prayed to whoever would listen. I’m nowhere near religious, but, fuck, I devoted everything in me to finding you,” he slots their lips together and feels Steve’s smile before he sees it, “You’re my home, Stevie. It’s empty without you. I’d rather die, than drive back alone.”

To have him like this is a million times better—a Goddamn miracle, compared to what Eddie’s envisioned night after night alone in his bed.

Moaning brokenly into his pillow as he chased after the punishing gossamer threads knotted in the hair of his phantom lover.

To untie him meant freedom and, at last, Eddie has the filthy pleasure of being the one to make Steve Harrington come undone.

“Gonna make me cum, Eds? Gonna let me be good for you?”

Steve’s thrashing wildly. Thrusting into Eddie’s fist and digging his nails into his back. Babbling sweetly about how badly he wants to shoot off over Eddie’s hands.

“Not yet, angel. I need something from you first,” he catches his breath, forces Steve’s hips to go still, and does his best to keep it together, “Promise me you’ll get in my van when we wake up tomorrow morning. Promise me you’ll forgive yourself.”

Steve’s quiet.

The water’s running cold—you get what you pay for.

The coyotes and cartoons fight for dominance. Lone rangers, lone wolves, trembling in the dust.

The dim bulb flickers—one, two, three; it’s fading fast—

In the pitch dark, Steve traces Eddie’s mouth with his fingertips, peels off his scars, draws whimsical shapes and crisscrossed stars with the very top of his tongue. An odd ritual and not a word to explain it.

As Steve finds the path to Eddie’s goriest scars—those that line his ribs—his curiosity gets the best of him.

“Care to enlighten me?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Steve kisses the tops of his knees and that makes Eddie horny and madly in love. Even madder than he was with Steve’s cock in his fist.

“Not to me, no.”

His laughter is infectious. Eddie giggles—genuinely giggles like a blushing schoolgirl.

“I’m making a map,” Steve licks the head of Eddie’s cock and he shivers, “memorizing you, so I’ll always know the way back home if I get lost. It’s a promise.”

—

They stay up later than they should for a drive as long as the one they have ahead of them. But, it’s worth it.

Eddie cums down Steve’s throat in the shower. Steve thanks him. Licks up every last drop and kisses his knees like a forbidden secret.

Getting dressed isn’t an option. It never had a chance to be part of the agenda.

Steve falls apart in Eddie’s lap on the bed—fucking himself at his own pace. Deep and perfect. His moans belong on an album. Eddie tells him he’ll make him one some day. Burn a CD and terrorize the neighbors by blasting it in his car with all the windows rolled down.

Afterwards, they brush each other’s teeth and make a mess of the counter. Cackling like crazed animals because the light’s still fucked and Steve can’t find the toothpaste cap. They decide to leave it there—a piece of themselves for whoever rents the room next.

—

An hour into the drive, Eddie reaches for the map over Steve’s lap and looks at it for a moment before shrugging and throwing it out the window.

That gets Steve’s attention.

“What the fuck? Did you mean to do that? Was that on purpose? Tell me that wasn’t on purpose—”

“We don’t need it. I know where I’m going. I have everything I need right here with me,” he winks at Steve and steals a handful of gas station sunflower seeds.

“You’re such a sap,” Steve snorts, “I can’t believe you made me promise to come home with you and now, we don’t even know which direction leads to home.”

“I’m a romantic,” Eddie pats his thigh affectionately, “and, I may or may not have convinced Robin and Nance to fly out for a family road trip. We’re meeting them at the next rest stop. Nancy has another map. Hope that’s okay?”

“As long as you’re there. I’m there,” Steve takes his hand, “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

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[bird-inacage]

Only Friends: Why Ray will continue to inevitably hurt Sand

Episode 3 was just the first of many instances where Ray will hurt Sand. This is just the beginning folks.

Ray's Persuasive Teasing vs Sand's Defenceless Sincerity

By Ray's own admission, he likes teasing Sand to get a rise out of him. He finds Sand's "stupid" (aka sincere/honest) reactions endearing or amusing. A word of caution that what he says can't always be taken on face value. Flirting to him doesn't necessarily imply romantic intent.

Whilst Sand is helplessly sincere (sometimes to his own detriment). He approaches things with the gravity he feels they deserve, which could explain why he doesn't sleep with anyone who isn't his lover more than once. He prefers to keep a clear distinction between a hook-up, friends or lovers.

For all intents and purposes, Sand is trying to keep things pretty cut and dry with Ray. If friends is what they've agreed to be, he'll adhere to that. Yet it's Ray whose initiating in most cases and muddying the waters. Because Sand's defences against Ray are fairly non-existent, he's easily swayed against his better judgement to engage in behaviour that blurs those lines. Sand is weak to Ray's flirting because it's a form of flattery. It gives the illusion of being desired, of being needed. That's an easy thing for anyone to fall prey to.

As long as Sand allows himself to be under Ray's persuasion, he's in prime position to get hurt. His concessions permit Ray to continue taking the lead and dictating the terms. This will make it even harder for him to fight for what he wants when it comes down to it.

'I'm not like your other friends'

Sand makes a point of highlighting this. 'If I'm supposedly just your friend, then what are we doing? This isn't what friends do. And you certainly don't treat your other friends this way. So 'fess up, what does that make me?' Ray conveniently skirts around the question, because truthfully, I don't think he has any idea. Not yet anyway. He hasn't bothered to confront 'the why'.

Ray exhibits an avoidant personality type. Possibly due to his mother's death (repression) or due to his crush on Mew (unrequited). He chooses to go with the flow. He acts on impulse. He seems intent on numbing or distracting himself from thinking too much. You could even say this is ignorance by choice. Ray is either knowingly or unconsciously avoiding what this may imply. (Which will relate to the next point). All he's openly acknowledged is that Sand is "fun to talk to", while glossing over mutual attraction under the terms of their so called 'friendship'. As Mew points out - Ray is lonely. Whether he's seeking out Sand specifically or he's just seeking out company in general, isn't something Ray has determined yet.

With this in mind, Ray doesn't mean to hurt Sand with intent, but it's often a consequence of poor judgement. Ray may be a mess but he's shown to at least take his friendships seriously. He apologises when at fault. He knows when to recognise a gesture in good faith, and to return the favour. When he notices Sand is upset or hurt, he looks guilty. He has a conscience. He at least knows Sand doesn't deserve to be hurt by him.

Ray's crush on Mew

This is arguably the biggest reason Ray is blindsided. Until he's able to let go or move on from his crush, he can't face or welcome Sand's feelings. Ray can easily flirt and tease in the name of harmless fun because it doesn't mean anything, right? Why? Because he has already reserved those feelings for someone else. But Sand doesn't know this. He has no idea why Ray is emotionally unavailable to him.

Ray is predisposed to put Mew first. His loyalty to Mew will win out when pitted against Sand. There is every possibility that Ray is stubbornly holding onto his crush out of habit. He vehemently denies anything is going on between him and Sand, almost in a bid to convince himself he can't possibly like anyone more than he likes Mew. But why? Why close yourself off to other good things that may come your way?

The fear of loss. People can be compelled to stick to something despite knowing it's outcome, because the alternative is unknown. Ray has already accepted Mew's rejection of him. He's had time to familiarise himself with it. At least he knows where he stands. Despite not returning his romantic feelings, Mew still cares immensely for him as a friend. Ray highly cherishes that. He's very grateful that Mew is still a part of his life. Tackling a new relationship means subjecting yourself to the fear of rejection yet again and by extension the fear of loss. When Mew comments that Sand seems to be interested in Ray back, he only says "yeah?" vaguely, almost dismissively - as if he's determined not to entertain the idea.

By choosing to honour his feelings for Mew, anything that happens with Sand must and has to fall under the umbrella of 'friendship' by default. When Sand says "You're happy. I'm happy. We don't develop it", Ray suddenly looks uneasy, and follows that with "but I still want to talk to you". He seems worried that Sand might distance himself. He doesn't want to lose this connection but isn't prepared to jeopardise things with Mew. He's visibly relieved (but lucky) that Sand is happy with this arrangement. For now.

The issue comes when this is no longer okay with Sand. If and when the lines continue to get increasingly blurred or their feelings become too great to ignore, Ray will be forced to make a choice. Mew or Sand. It can't be both. Making a choice often means closing the door on the other. If Ray insists on holding onto the claim that they're just friends, that's going to read as flagrant denial or careless deception in Sand's eyes. One is Ray running away and refusing to confront his feelings, the other is actively misleading Sand to think there could be more when he didn't plan to drop his feelings for Mew.

Sand's burden of responsibility

When Sand says "I don't have the right to be upset with you," he's reminding himself that he shouldn't be hurt by Ray passing him up for another friend. Sand can't help feeling disappointed but he's also embarrassed by this fact - for getting his hopes up, for thinking Ray's 'special treatment' of him sets him apart. Sand was willing to stay in his lane. So whenever Ray starts to instigate physical intimacy, it sends Sand's rationale to go momentarily out the window.

The other reason why Sand is going to get hurt is due to his moral code. He's likely to take responsibility or blame for his part in this very personally. For enabling things to happen and develop when he should have put a stop to it for his own good. 'I should have known better', 'I should have seen this coming', 'I didn't control myself'.

Note: Man, was Episode 3 an absolute doozie. I'm still trying to make sense of everything that happened. I have had so many thoughts and it's been really difficult trying to pick apart everything.

#only friends #only friends the series #ofts #only friends meta #ray x sand #sand x ray #raysan #sandray #firstkhao #khaofirst #khaotung thanawat #first kanaphan #are they both in the early stages of denial? #YUP

[guardian5tiger3]

Tarot Reading - Pick a Picture .

General/whatever comes out.

1 2

3 4

Pile 1 .

You might be feeling a little sad lately ,possibly influences by other persons in your energy. You may be looking for guidance and spirit is wanting you to work towards building yourself up more financially and possibly becoming more stable. Being able to fully rely on yourself is the best way to avoid conflict with others surrounding you. You may have someone close to you, possibly a sister for some specific few people, who is looking at something and seemingly away from you. Sometimes you have to accept things for what they are and build yourself up and form a better connection with yourself . Deep down this person loves you no matter what. This can also be a part of yourself.

You're definitely learning in some way or another how to be there for yourself and be content with yourself. Don't let anyone be deceitful towards you at this time and try your best to trust yourself . Follow your heart, how you feel, and listen to what you naturally already know is right. You already have all the answers within.

Side note, some of you, it is also possible this person close to you or whoever they may be relating to you, is actually confused and in a way only doing or saying whatever it is as a reaction to something else. They may just need you to say something and stop being stubborn and something if you possibly have been or they might just be fishing for you to say something .

Peace and love.

Pile 2 .

You may be being confronted with a choice on how to respond information.

You might feel compelled or know you should focus elsewhere and," turn the other cheek."

Running away from things is not always the best solution to problems.

Think like a gambler, is it worth losing whatever or whoever you are looking away from?

Think rationally and try not to be too impulsive at this time.

Make sure if you care about someone to consider their emotions but do always put yourself first. Try not to get too caught up in your imagination and ground yourself.

You may be healing family wounds at this time.

I keep getting something about a pet fish.

If you have any pet even past on ,they might be trying to convey to you to be in a more Buddha like mental state if that makes sense.

Don't be naive or ignore problems, though. Healing is very important and you never fail to feel better in general in life after you accomplish a phase of healing.

Make sure you're giving to the right persons.

If you're confused, slow down and chill for a while.

Let yourself feel emotions, especially if there is some heartbreak you're trying to keep down.

Thank you. Peace and love.

Pile 3.

You might be ignoring advice or guidance from some people for the sake of individuality and or it simply just doesn't suit you.

I'm very proud of you if that's the case.

Water like in your picture is significant somehow.

At the end of the day, you have a certain destiny and even though some people may care about you and love you it doesn't mean you have to live your life according to what will make them happy or proud.

This could , for some of you, also just be accepting that you aren't the type to make money in a way that's considered as "normal."

But, if someone loves you, they'll love you regardless of what you choose to do with your life.

And final message for you-

Be happy . :) 🌈

Thank you. Peace and love.

Pile 4

Someone might have told you something upsetting in some way, perhaps it has caused some type of disturbance in your life.

Somebody might need to move out and are having trouble figuring it out or accepting what you feel like you're losing.

There is you showing up as coming out better on the other side of whatever this situation is.

Try to hold onto your faiths at this time and let your intuition guide you.

I most definitely see a rainbow at the end of the storm whether the storm is a few raindrops or a full blizzard..

Based on the energy I got from whoever gave you some type of information, it is about time you experience a fresh new start. You might meet new people soon.

I see you walking into a phase of self discovery in this next part of your life, probably the next few months. Always remember, for every situation that has cons there's bound to be pros.

However defensive you've been about yourself, keep it up. I see things about to be resolved or you're going to be in a calmer state soon.

Peace and love people.

Thank you.

🎈

-tiger girl

#pick a card reading #pac reading #tarot reading #free tarot readings #pick a deck #pick a card #pick a pile #tarot free reading

[m-to-z-andbackto-m]

Bitty Dust Headcanon Time!!! I didn't do a good job at deciphering the lil' bugger-

Bitty!Killer HeadCanons

Bitty!Cross HeadCanons

I feel that he's. Awful at social interaction (at least at first) so he's a great choice if you're out of the house a lot!

Actually don't leave him alone-alone for too long, I feel like he has attachment issues so at first he'd be okay with alone time... apart from being emotionally unstable-

Once he warms up to you he'll probably stick around more and you'll probably start to understand what he likes and stuff, despite his lack of verbal responses

He probably doesn't like his face touched? I personally don't go with a no face Dust but I adore the idea/look so if you do, he probably doesn't want you touching his head

Maybe he'll let you pat it gently as long as you don't tug his hood off, you'll have to gain his trust first though, you can hold his itty bitty hands instead 🥺

Don't touch his scarf, if it needs cleaning he'll do it, probably in the shower or something

Most compatible with a well tended to Horror, maybe he'd be on edge with a Papy bitty so I wouldn't advise that pair up, unless you throw in a Horror!Paps, the difference is enough and similarities still comfortable, plus Horror would love his baby brother to be around and Dust could feel like this is his personal second chance (Like how Geno vibes with Papy!), though he won't say it

Edit: I think he'd be okay with Geno too actually, I don't see enough positive interaction between them D:

He'll probably vibe with Cross too but don't expect much interaction between them, again, good bitty choices if you're out of the house a lot!

If you want, you can try to pair/group him up with a Blue, he's tolerable, but make sure he doesn't overwhelm the tired man

You know these headcanons are if they potentially had their pasts played out, but if you don't wanna think they have backgrounds as bitties that's up to you

I think he'd like soft things (likes being wrapped in them for a sense of safety and support) and hate dirty places like the back of the microwave where Killer would venture into lol, only because the dirt and grime reminds him of bad stuff

Ketchup. He might want it spiked though, still, don't let him develop an addiction/habit-

I keep thinking it'd be cute if he hugs your hand/finger(s) (depending on the size you're imagining)

Probably watches TV and sleeps a lot, sluggish due to bad mental health/low motivation and poor quality sleep, this can be improved overtime if you emotionally bond with him and help him work out confronting his feelings which he tends to invalidate in his mind, he just needs some kindness guys

He's low maintenance, but he also forgets to take care of himself sometimes, you gotta make sure he's not stinky and hungry, actually, if you pair him up with a Horror bitty, he'll make sure Dust doesn't starve because that's just his moral compass y'know

Also he probably prefers hoodies and won't wear anything new/unfamiliar, especially if it makes him feel exposed

If you do get him to do more than just lay around sulking, maybe he obsesses over routines to feel a sense of predictability and has terrible paranoia, especially of unknown humans, bitty or not

Sensitive to change and may cause panic so tell him what will happen and when

For a small example, don't scoop him up without asking or warning him first

If you'll get home late, leave him a voicemail on the home phone so he's less anxious waiting

And don't invite people over or adopt new bitties without him being prepared for a new variable in the house, this might cause him to distaste the new person and be avoidant

Definitely not outgoing at all, but maybe a couple of times he'll accept some time outside the house

He'll want to protect you depending on how well you've bonded <3

#undertale au #sans au #fandom #utmv #ut au #utmv au #sans #ut aus #utmv headcanons #headcanon #headcanons #dusttale #dust sans #murder sans #murder!sans #dusttale sans #dust!sans #bittytale #bitty sans #bitty dust #MZM Rambles A Lot

[molsno]

hello ^-^

soo i saw one of your posts about transmisogyny which i thought was really well written and articulated, so i wanted to get your opinion on something.

i’ve seen some tme trans(masc) people on here say that treating trans men like “gender traitors” or “siding with The Enemy” is bioessentialist and terf rhetoric, however i see this brought up almost exclusively in response to conversations about tme and/or male privilege. to me it seems like they feel invalidated or vilified by trans women and discussions about transmisogyny, and so they reposition the issue as one which targets and oppresses them so that they can avoid having to confront any privilege they may possess. i also think the way they phrase it purposely obfuscates what they’re really getting at, which is that men are oppressed for being masculine and held up as the ultimate evil (patently untrue). but i don’t really know as much about it as you might and it’s also not my place to decide what is or isn’t transmisogyny as a tme, so i wanted to hear your thoughts.

no pressure to respond and i hope you have a nice day <3

thanks for the well wishes. I'm trying to hold it together today and I figure I may as well answer this to distract myself

anyway yeah, those are some pretty astute observations. to be honest, I have to agree that the "gender traitor" narrative is bioessentialist, which is why it very much is terf rhetoric. in order for trans men to be "gender traitors" or "siding with the enemy", you would have to suppose that they are fundamentally women, and that they chose to be trans in order to escape from misogyny and gain access to male privilege. the basis of this hypothetical relies on the premise that they are female due to some permanent unchangeable characteristic, which is exactly what bioessentialism posits. plus, this narrative relies on the willful depiction of transness as nothing more than a lifestyle choice, which is blatantly transphobic due to the fact that for many trans people, transness manifests independently of any external factors.

(you will find a lot of debate about what makes people trans, and there is a lot of disagreement even among trans people, but I'm not going to get into that right now. just assume that my point is that there is no universal narrative that explains why people are trans and it varies from person to person.)

that being said, I feel it's also important to point out that there's no shortage of transmascs who are terfs or were former terfs. the reason for this is pretty obvious when you think about it for a few seconds: terfs regularly talk about how womanhood is an innately traumatic and miserable experience, and closeted transmascs for whom womanhood IS a traumatic and miserable experience sometimes gravitate toward that community because it makes them feel understood. terfs very much operate like a cult in this way, and you could easily assert that transmascs who become terfs are victims of cult brainwashing. however, my sympathy for them ends the moment I remember that they willingly joined a hate group whose purpose is the extermination of people like me.

and make no mistake! many of these men are still just as transmisogynistic as they were before! even the ones who leave the terf community (which is not all of them) only do so because they often find that they're no longer welcome when they choose to transition, not out of any desire to atone for the violence they've perpetrated against trans women.

so, what are these trans men to do after they've been exiled from the community that validated their existence and gave them a political drive? how can they reconcile the fact that their decision to choose masculinity and manhood has resulted in them feeling ostracized, ridiculed, and isolated? it's simple really: redefine their politics around the premise that men are actually hated in society. this is an easy conclusion for them to come to when they've been living inside an echo chamber where everyone they know DOES hate men.

the problem with that, though, is that in the eyes of a radical feminist, a "man" is a biological category of person, and any critiques you can make about men's behavior can be attributed to a biological cause. terfs don't ACTUALLY hate men, they hate "biological males" - trans women.

and that's very true of these transmasculine "former" terfs as well. they still hold the same bioessentialist views, so they feel vilified whenever they come into contact with the "biological males" they've come to despise so much. most of them don't actually understand any other types of feminism besides radical feminism, so when they encounter trans women reminding them that they have male privilege, they fall back on their bioessentialist beliefs. they're not an evil "biological male", after all, they're a "biological female" who's "ontologically incapable of violence", and a feminist is criticizing them for "siding with the enemy" by "choosing masculinity".

you need to understand that when they do this, it is largely a form of deflection. they resent the radical feminists who discarded them for being trans, and are attempting to distance themselves from the people who hurt them. that's why they're so vehemently anti-feminist. and because they haven't unpacked any of their bioessentialist beliefs, they're able to paint trans women, who deep down they still view as privileged and dangerous biological males, as aggressive and oppressive radical feminists. ultimately, despite whatever conception they have of themselves, they're expressing a form of male entitlement by shutting the conversation down and making everything that terfs do about them, ignoring the fact that the vast, VAST majority of the violence they enact is targeted specifically at trans women. and why wouldn't they? they don't actually care about trans women. they still hate us just as much as they always have, even if they now pay us lip service and (sometimes) use the right pronouns for us.

let me make myself clear: not all transmascs do this. not even a majority! all in all, this kind of story represents a pretty small minority of trans men, but they're very vocal and very visible in the trans community. that's not to say that most transmascs don't hold transmisogynistic views (it's basically impossible to have absolutely none if you're tme), but few of them are this hateful. this story is just one that I've seen played out many times - mostly involuntarily - because I've gotten a lot of these types of guys arguing with me on here and painting me as a radfem for talking about basic feminist tenets such as "men are an oppressor class".

also, as a disclaimer since I don't have time to get into everything: terfs are not a monolith and some terfs welcome trans men into their ranks (though these are an even smaller number of them), this was just one scenario that I hope painted a clear picture of the cause behind this phenomenon you've observed.

I hope this was helpful. if you need more examples, keep an eye on the notes of this post; they'll come crawling in here to argue with me in no time.

#ask #Anonymous #transmisogyny #my writing

[idontplaytrack]

'Not Even In Your Top 5'

AJ Campos x fem!reader

Warnings: fluff, angst, coarse language

In which reader feels like she's never anyone's first choice. And AJ finds that ridiculous. Very ridiculous.

Enjoy this little drabble :D

Things have been rocky between you and AJ for the past couple weeks. Because of what you’ve been hearing about you from fellow students, you were upset. Maybe more than upset, so you were pushing AJ away. It was a reflex for you once you faced something like this- a switch flips in your brain and you just ignore the one person who loves you. You didn't want to hurt her like you were hurting yourself. But she kept staying by your side, causing you to push her away even harder. And as patient as AJ has been, she was bound to reach a breaking point, even if she didn't mean to.

You walked through the front doors of the school, trudging to your locker as you avoided eye contact with everybody in your path. All you could think of was how they were all talking about you behind your back. That's what every quiet conversation, every pointing finger and every chuckle was to you- someone judging you.

When the last bell rang for the day, AJ immediately went to wait for you outside your classroom. “AJ, what are you doing here?”

“To talk to you. You can’t keep avoiding me.”

“I can try.”

She lets out a quiet sigh, “y/n, please talk to me.”

“I can’t do this.” You blurted out, pushing past your girlfriend and heading towards the exit. AJ however, wasn’t more then two feel behind you with each step you took. Finally, she’s had enough and grabbed your wrist. “Sit down- we need to talk.” AJ said firmly.

“Not here.” You replied quietly, defeated. She got what you meant and took you to her car instead, and you sat in the front with her. She drives away from the school, and towards her home. Once the both of you were in the privacy of her room, she asked you what had been going on with you and you just felt the words getting caught in your throat- you had no clue how to verbalise it to her.

“It’s been two weeks, baby. This silent treatment or whatever it is…if you don’t talk to me, I can’t help you.” She started, sitting at her desk to give you some space since it’s been looking like you needed it. “Was it something I did? If I did anything to upset you, just tell me. Be straightforward with me.”

————

You inhaled shakily while fiddling with your thumbs, feeling the tears brim at your eyes…just as you’d expected. You hated confrontation, it always brings you to tears. Always have an always will. You never fail to feel like the other person’s first reaction would be to scream at you, just like your parents always did growing up at every little mistake.

“I’m sorry.” You told her tearfully, explaining to her as best as you could, how you’ve been feeling and what you’ve been feeling.

“It’s always been a problem for me…overthinking, feeling like everyone’s out to get me or judging me. Sometimes I feel like I’m not even in your top 5.”

“Oh, babe…” AJ exhales, licking her lips. She envelopes you in the hug, her initial frustration and bit of anger dies down quickly. “That’s ridiculous. You’re my favourite person- you’re my girl. Nothing and no one will ever change that for me. If anyone gives you crap, they’ll have to go through me first.”

You allowed yourself to chuckle, wiping away a couple of fallen tears. “Oh, God. Why am I like this? I thought I’d already got over this problem in therapy.”

“It’s okay, baby.” She kisses you sweetly on the lips, “You’re okay. Recovery’s never 100% linear, hm? Don’t go blaming yourself, now.”

“You literally saved me.”

“Don’t give me all the credit. You’ve done a lot of work yourself in therapy for months.” She clasps your hands in her own, giving them a squeeze.

“I know, I know.” You squeezed her hands in response, “I do owe part of it to you, though. So, thank you- I just wanted you to know that.” The conversation continued and took a lighthearted turn, much to both of your relief. You lay down on her chest and she was scratching your head mindlessly like you always loved.

“I think we should go on a date.” You mentioned.

“Oh, yeah?” She asks, grinning.

“Yep. It’s been awhile and spring break’s coming up- maybe it’s time we plan a little something.” You nodded.

“Okay. I’m sure we can think of something with all that time on our hands.” AJ smiled brightly, causing you to do the same.

#auli’i cravalho #aj campos #lgbtqia #queer #crush #hulu crush #hurt/comfort #fluff #angst #reader insert #x reader #wlw

[animeyanderelover]

Anon: Chrollo with a passive s/o?

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessive behavior, obsession, manipulation, threats, blackmailing, abduction, isolation

Passive s/o

📖 Having a more passive personality doesn't have to imply automatically something negative but with Chrollo it will definitely escalate as he is quick to recognize that he can use certain traits of yours to his own advantage. That may include your fear of conflict and confrontation and your struggles to make decisions all by yourself as you're more comfortable going with the flow. No matter how subtle those traits of yours might be, Chrollo will amplify them to the very extreme until you're basically relying on him to make the decisions for you. He doesn't mind, in fact appreciates the co-dependency you start to develop with time on him. With manipulation and the occasional help of the other spiders he basically makes himself into your comfort zone, one you hesitate to leave without as you're not overly fond of being confronted with new things. You feel more comfortable having him reassuring you and deciding as you trust his own judgement more than your own.

📖 Chrollo is a huge control freak so the moment he notices that your eyes always fly to him when someone presents you with a choice as if asking him for help to pick, he's rather delighted. Honestly, I feel like Chrollo's character in general would be bad for someone passive who tends to not speak up for themselves or voice their opinion. Chrollo is confident, he's assertive and very knowledgable and smart too so even if he wouldn't have any bad intentions, you'd probably end up letting him take charge anyways. His charisma and leadership barely leave any room for you to make a decision, his sheer confidence and intelligence even reassures you since you can always delude yourself into thinking that he knows better and for that can make the better choices. An idea that Chrollo subtly feeds you to only fuel your reliance on him. Where you hesitate to speak up, he will and if you fail to set boundaries with people who aren't him, he will very quickly clarify them to you and the other person.

📖 The romantic relationship is half-consensual and half-forced. You have feelings by Chrollo at this rate, that's just the wonder of his charming personality but you also have never considered having a romantic relationship before. Chrollo coerces you into agreeing though, even if only so that he can tell himself that you also love him and to use this moment later on against you for the purpose of manipulation. He has broken you already down and your fear to disappoint him and push your source of comfort away from you by denying him just lead you into saying yes, yet another failure to speak up your own mind. It's at the very latest after your abduction where he reveals his true identity that you show signs of rebellion, even if your fear and hesitant personality sober possibly fierce insults and words down into a soft and cautious tone. By now there is too much damage that has been done by him and instead you find yourself continuing to go along with his flow as you quickly realize that by doing so, your life will just be a tiny bit quieter and peaceful. You want to avoid troubles and discussions if possible.

📖 All of his mindgames aside, it is important to say that Chrollo actually is interested in your real thoughts and feelings. You just swallow every idea, thought and feeling down instead of showing it, especially after your abduction. So perhaps it's surprising for you when Chrollo sometimes converses with you and suddenly asks you about your own opinion about something, be it a philosophical question or your view of the world or even himself. Such spontanous questions always overwhelm you a bit, especially if you have never thought about it before. You're always trying to gauge his reaction in favor of not saying anything he might disagree with but it's hard to emotionally read him as he purposely makes it difficult for you. He wants to know what you think after all and doesn't want you to repeat words he has spoken before. Speak to him with your own words. He's surprisingly encouraging during such moments, hearing you speak your own mind a precious, little treat as he watches and listens to his darling spider intently.

#yandere hunter x hunter #yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo lucilfer

[the-orange-tabby-cat]

Wings Of The Dawn | Chapter 6

AO3 link🐾 | chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

GIF by sweeetestcurse

listen to the fic's playlist

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader Rating: 18+ (light smut in this chapter) Tags: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Friends to Lovers, Age Difference, Small Town Dynamics, No use of y/n Word count of the chapter: 5,4k Next chapter will be posted: October 21th (You can find a sneak peek of the next chapter at AO3)

A/N: This is a shorter chapter after the heaviness of the last one. Consider it a little breeze because in 7 we will get right on track with the heavy plotting. See ya!

Summary of the fic: You are Jackson’s librarian, a doll with a good heart, that has your life changed when a handsome man decides to take his kid and start again in your small town after completing their cross country journey. Having a hard time ignoring Joel’s dark brown eyes, you find yourself wishing to have him close as you both navigate through love triangles, teenage drama, city gossip, and ghosts from both of your pasts. This is a comfort fic filled with slow burn and small town dynamics. Chapter summary: Joel confront his troubled past as he visits you.

｡˚🐾₊˚

CHAPTER 6

Life path is designed through choices. We can choose ourselves: where to travel next summer or what flavor of pie to bake. Sometimes, unfortunately, others can choose for us like when you have to stay in the city during summer because there was heavy traffic on the way to the airport or having to eat meatloaf instead of pie because your roommate forgot to buy sugar.

It's all about choices. There are those we can have a final word on it, what newspaper to read, for example. When we talk about heart, we choose, but most of the time we have no idea of why we did it in the first place. Alfie, however, knew why he chose to love you.

He had been living in Jackson for a little over two years, his English was getting more natural now that Cata had interaction with kids her age. The town had almost 200 citizens, but a big part of them pretended that he didn’t exist.

The root of it was simple: Alfonso wasn't one of them. Nobody had openly treated him badly or said what was that made them avoid him, but he could see in their faces whenever he misspoke an English word. He was fine with it if it meant that Cata could have a normal life after so much time craving it.

It was afternoon when the city gate opened to reveal two men and a young woman. Maria was speaking to the three explaining the next steps of their residency at Jackson. The two ex-fireflies, Eugene and Tommy, would follow her to meet some of the patrollers, while you were a little out of place at the main street.

"I will wait for you here," you said to Eugene. Walking nearby, Alfonso noted how tired and scared you seemed to be.

“Aw, aren’t ya a doll? We might take longer than you expect. Take a tour, Dolly.” Eugene shouted as he followed Maria and Tommy.

A doll. Alfonso could see how you wanted to bark something back at the old man but controlled your tongue before doing anything. Even with dark circles under the eyes, dirty matted hair, and stained clothing, you still had tenderness in you.

He recognized the softness in your gaze. You seemed to have been through hell and back, but haven’t lost hope. Trying to keep the hope in you, he decided to help.

“Hi, I’ve hearded the conversation. Sorry. I can help you with a tour, if you want to.” He said without thinking too much, a strange man approaching you out of nowhere? Not a good start.

"Hum, hi. She told us that there is a place where we could eat before a communal dinner…?" He knew what you meant, the desperation behind your words.

He tried to maintain a distance from you as you strolled by his side on the sidewalk, you were listening carefully to a broken English explanation of the town structure. You looked directly into his eyes, even laughed when he made a joke. After so long sitting in the shadows, he was seen and heard.

As you entered the Tipsy Bison to order a sandwich, you put a hand on his forearm before he left the bar entrance.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” you smiled and introduced yourself.

“I’m Alfonso, a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine. Thank you for the tour, Alfie.” As you entered the bar, he chose that he would stay close to you, he ached to be seen by you in his wholeness.

You chose to not reciprocate the feeling. Two years later, he was inside your house, you were wearing that dress that ended at the middle of your thighs, the one he had seen only once and dreamed of sliding it out of your body. It was supposed to be his time with you, but you were obviously waiting for another man.

The softness of your gaze was still there, but so far from the woman he met at the gate that day.

“Tell me everything you know about Maria’s plan. Please,” you tried while sitting in front of him in a chair. Alfie took the sofa, keeping a distance from you.

"She came to my house a week or so ago asking for help with her last council meeting before Esther showed up." The orange tabby cat nested in his lap, at least someone was happy to see him there. "The election will happen in two weeks, she wants to move Nath’s place to Esther. Asked me to vote for her in her proposals.”

“Just that? A vote?” You asked frowning your brows. Alfie shook his head.

"No, Dolly. It isn't about voting or not for her proposals, is what they will propose. They want to close the bar permanently and have no more local alcohol being produced here in the city."

You got serious for a second and then laughed. A smile wanted to form on his lips, but he avoided staying on the same tone as before. You saw him as a joke instead of a friend, someone who cared for you.

"Alfie, no offense, but it is impossible. Most people here drink her beverage or use the Bison as their hang out place. There is no way they'll be able to do it." Getting on your feet, you had a smile of relief on your face.

"Maria knows Nath has some kind of scheme. She caught underground drinks with some kids and will use it against her, trying to say that Nath is using minors in her operation. We might be inside the town's walls, but everyone is still a little paranoid about safety. She'll prove that Nath is using the kids regardless of the town's rules."

That took your attention. Opening your mouth, Alfie saw your eyes scan the surroundings as you tried to find an argument that could contradict what he had just said. Finding none, you limited yourself.

"Shit. Has she mentioned the kids' names?"

“No, but she thinks I’m on her side. I’m not, I’m at yours.” You avoided his eyes for a moment just to look back at him with the tenderness he knew.

“Thank you, Alfie. Will they propose it already at the next meeting?” Sitting again in your chair, you were chewing your bottom lip in a rushed manner.

“Not yet, but they will start to create alliances with Chad and Edwin as well. I came here so you could be prepared.”

A smile appeared on your lips and Alfie couldn't hold back his grin. Your eyes were looking at his with kindness, no more the avoidant stare that you gave him since Joel entered your life. He wished to keep you like this, before having your feet swiped by that man.

“I know I’ve been acting a little weird with you, I’m sorry. I’m still true to my words: I’ll be here if you want me or not, Dolly. We’re friends, I would never hurt you.”

Alfie’s words hadn’t a hint of malice behind them. You felt guilty for having chosen to ignore his honesty with you by not giving him a heads up about Joel, he had said to you that he wanted you to think about him not to treat it as if he was an asshole. Even the orange tabby cat was purring happily at his lap, why should you run away from him?

"Thank you, Alfie. I'm sorry for the last days as well." Placing your hand on his shoulder, his green eyes flashed at you with the usual light. Oh boy, you were in trouble. "See you at the council meeting, okay?"

Walking him to the door, Alfie said his goodbye with an unexpected hug. Not feeling any resentment towards him, you hugged back for a second before closing the door. The orange tabby cat was sitting at the tapestry with his tail tip wiggling back and forth, his yellow eyes slowly blinking at you.

“What? I can have friends other than Nath.” With raised eyebrows, you spoke to the cat.

"Meow," as a cat, he couldn't give much of another response.

"Shut up. I can be friends with him. And I hope to see you on Joel's lap too, you don't fool me."

With your finger pointed to the cat, you took a deep breath and plopped on the sofa. The orange tabby cat yawned at your threat, unbothered. You went back to wait for Joel and his dark eyes, wishing for the warmth of his embrace to empty your mind.

-

Could it be considered a date when you would show up at his house from time to time and he spent most of his free time at your library? Joel hadn't had a date in so long that he forgot the unspoken rules of it. You invited him to listen to music at your house, not for dinner or a night out. Maybe he was seeing too much in it.

He was dressed as always, just a nicer flannel shirt. He let his hair dry naturally, not putting too much effort – you had said you liked it before. The last thing Joel wanted was to make a fool of himself for trying too much.

“Woah,” Ellie exclaimed as she opened the door of her guest house. Joel raised his eyebrows at the kid.

“What?” He wanted to act natural, as if it was an ordinary thing not an actual worry inside his head. Did he try too hard?

“Nothing. You look so… Put together?” Maybe he did try too hard. “Is good, though.”

“I’ve worn this outfit before, I’m not more or less put together.” He grumpily mumbled, but Ellie wasn’t fully convinced, still looking smug about it. “I’m heading out, might take a few hours. If you need something cross the street to Tommy’s, okay?”

“Tell Dolly I said “hi”,” the kid smiled and he groaned in response. Of course she knew something.

As he walked out of the house, a part of him was happy that Ellie liked you. He wouldn't dare to say it out loud, too afraid to break it, but he cared for her as his daughter. If Sarah was here, he would have prepared her to meet you and wait for her approval. Ellie was the same, if she didn’t like you he would have swallowed his interest and let it die.

If he wanted to be honest with himself (something he rarely did), you weren't supposed to reciprocate. It would have been easier. Romance was something he spent so much time of his life having trouble with that now, at 56, he had no idea of where to start.

He was too deep in mourning and his worry for Tommy that he didn’t care enough for Tess the way she deserved. She slept by his side for over 10 years and he never managed to name what he felt for her. Tess treated him like someone worth coming home to after a long day, he treated her as a warm hole whenever she tried to speak about them. She was the one who kept him sane for all that dark time before Ellie's arrival in his life. His longest relationship and yet, he felt ashamed whenever he thought of her.

Before the outbreak, he stayed almost 12 years in on-and-off soon-to-be relationships. Joel never really liked the idea of casual or one night stands, but the women in his life would show no interest or disappear after a while when he got comfortable to reveal more of him. The longest he got with someone was around six months, but she fled after meeting Sarah.

The root of all these problems? Her. Sarah’s mom. Her name was almost forbidden, such a taboo that even inside his head he wouldn’t think of it. Senior year high school sweethearts, they graduated and moved together right away. For a while it was all good, he was working nonstop to make ends meet while she would be studying to join a university.

“Our sacrifice will pay off when you see me with a diploma making six figures," she would joke to him and he would believe.

He was so proud of his girl that he didn’t notice when she started to get cold at him. The realization that she would never be as rich or be able to achieve her dreams with Joel by her side infiltrated their lives. He was holding her back by existing next to her. Not having a university diploma in his name and working through the strength of his body had a bigger weight than his love for her. She was ashamed to be with him. It only got worse when she gave birth to Sarah.

She ripped him from the inside out, stepped on all his self-steem. He couldn’t see himself as interesting or that good looking after her, always with one of his foot by the door waiting for a “no”. His loneliness wasn’t by his choice, was by fear of failing expectations. Tess made it work because, at the end of the world, crumbs tasted like a whole damn meal.

Joel didn’t want to serve you crumbs, he would make it right this time.

Somewhat near your house, a panic came rushing inside his chest. Having a hard time breathing, Joel stopped at the first lamppost and waited for it to go. It could have been five or ten minutes, he had no clue. Shit, the last panic attack he had was at his first visit to Jackson, he thought it was long gone now everything was good.

Swallowing his fear, he was able to arrive in your street in time to see you and Alfie hugging. For a second he felt stupid and thought he misunderstood your signals, but it all came down when he looked at your face.

You hugged Alfie with your eyes open. You had closed your eyes the first time Joel kissed your cheek. Whatever had happened for you to hug the man, it wasn’t desire that fueled. Getting more comfortable in his skin, Joel crossed the street and tapped at your door after a minute or so.

“Hi,” he said a little more awkward than wanted. Should he kiss you? Wait for your move?

“Hi there,” you smiled at him, taking his hand in yours as you pulled him gently into the house. He was at ease again under your touch.

The sundress you wore was so casual that he felt better by not putting too much thought into his clothing. Blue as the sky, he tried to not stare at it, but he was a little too obsessed by the view of your bare legs from your shorts to this. You noticed, painfully obvious by your soft chuckle.

“Are you still tired? I can make you coffee or get something stronger,” you asked holding his hand still. He was tired but didn't mind if it meant spending more time with you.

“Do you want something to drink? I can tag along,” caressing your palm, he replied.

“Have you already tasted Nath’s wine?” He shook his head just so you could point to the sofa with your head and move to the kitchen. “It’s made of cherry, her best creation so far.”

Joel started to look around your house trying to connect the dots of who you were in his head. Maybe you were similar in more ways than he originally thought: most of the decoration had been there before the outbreak, looking more like a family house than yours. All of it, except for a huge pile of CDs at the coffee table.

Lowering himself towards the CD pile to look closer to its covers (with age his vision was far from what it used to be), he backed instantly as an orange cat came from under the table hissing at him.

“Don’t you try me, we have just spoken about it!” You ran from the kitchen shooing the cat. With a smirk, Joel looked at you.

“What did you say the poor cat?” Your cheeks went red, only making his curiosity bigger.

"He knows what I've spoken to him," picking up the cat, you left the room and came back to the kitchen. Joel followed you.

“What’s his name?” He asked leaning at the wall. You had been in his kitchen two times already, it felt like a regular space for chatting with you.

"He doesn't have a name. I was afraid of naming when I found him on my back porch. It was my first week in Jackson, couldn't name a cat that might not even stay with me."

“What do you mean?” Joel could see some tension on your shoulders as you searched for something in the cabinets. He saw the careful ways you handled your life, it was unusual for you to behave like that.

“I was afraid people would ask me to leave the town. Guess part of me is still afraid of the rejection. I like living here, it's better than anywhere I've ever lived, anyway." You avoided Joel's stare while sucking on your bottom lip. If you only knew how afraid he was of being rejected by you.

The cat was glaring at him in some kind of “fuck you” stare as if Joel could do something to worsen your fear. He wasn't much of an animal lover before the outbreak, he made a note in his mental list to learn about cats if it meant to visit you more. He would try to make you feel at home and maybe, at some point, to change the décor.

“Sorry, the house hadn’t any wine glass, had to pour it in a regular one.” Two glasses with wine were at the table. He made a motion with his hand to shut it. There wasn’t a bone of fancy inside his body, you would soon realize it.

After giving the cat some food, you pass Joel a glass. Sucking on your bottom lip, you waited as he tasted the wine. To his surprise, it was delicious.

“So?” You asked timidly. Behind you, the cat still glared at him.

"Good. Not too sweet, just right. Does she craft it by herself?" Your face of relief was enough to get his head floating. At least this is what he hoped: he drank through the cross country journey a few times, but back in Boston he used alcohol to cope with his shitty life. He couldn't get back to heavy drinking, not with you and Ellie in his life.

“Yes, Seth helps too. Ready for some Springsteen?”

  You turned on the CD player and put it on a low volume, as Born In The U.S.A. intro started Joel couldn't stop a grin. The lovely smile dimple on his cheek appeared and you controlled yourself to not kiss it right away. His arm stretched at the sofa backrest, you sat at his side with your head resting on his arm.

With him so close, you kept staring at the small details of his face. The colors of his beard and the little empty spot shaped as a heart next to his chin. Lifting your fingers, you traced the heart shape in a soft motion. The comfortable silence was filled only by the music, Joel the most relaxed you ever saw.

Cupping his cheek with your hand, he kissed your palm as he hummed Cover Me. He was so handsome when he didn’t have a care in the world.

“If I knew Springsteen had this effect on you I would have invited you sooner,” you teased him, who looked at you with tenderness.

“I was 17 when this album came out. Brings back good memories.” You tried to picture a young Joel listening to the music as he drove around when you realized something.

“You were at high school? Bet you were a troublemaker.”

“I wish, it woulda been better.” His face got serious out of nowhere. His dark eyes became glossy, getting worried you kept caressing his cheek.

“Not sure if I understand it,” Joel’s eyes found yours in confusion. “I never went to high school, the outbreak came first.”

Like a spell being broken, you could see your age flash behind Joel's eyes. You didn't mind the age gap but hadn't spoken about it with him yet. A fear of saying something wrong started in your stomach, sitting a little more firmly on the sofa, you tried to keep it cool.

“You didn’t miss much. It was a little shitty, no one was nice like you.” His hand was at your neck, the callouses of his fingertips making small circles at the base of your spine. His eyes were back to the same intense gaze he had seconds before you kissed him.

There it was again. The same impulse as last time, you wanted to kiss so badly. As if reading your mind, Joel guided your head in his direction. You kissed his lips which tasted like cherry wine in slow moves, savoring him. It was a chaste kiss, testing the waters still.

You wanted more. Your hand went to his hair, playing with his curls between your fingertips. Joel pulled you closer, interrupting the kiss to give a peck under your ear. Raising goosebumps over your whole skin, you closed your eyes focusing on the way his mustache tickled you. He was everywhere and not close enough.

He brought his forehead to yours, as you opened your eyes. His eyes found yours and went back to his lap, feeling confused you realized what had happened: the chaste kisses were enough to get him hard.

“Gimme a second, darlin’,” he whispered while trying to cool it down.

Instead, you kissed him with urgency. Fuck it, you wanted it too. I’m On Fire playing in the background, you sat on his lap and pushed your whole body on his. It took a second, but his hands found your waist as you ground your hips with his.

Your body was on fire as he dropped his hands from your waist to your ass, squeezing and holding you tight against his crotch. You moaned a little in his mouth, dry humping him as you felt your panties getting soaked. He responded by lifting his hips to meet yours.

Stopping the kiss with a gentle bite at his lower lip, you locked eyes with him as your hands traveled to his belt. “Can I?” your voice rushed with desire. Joel nodded fast.

Your hands moved quickly, in urgency to feel him. Getting his jeans opened, you started to palm his cock through his underwear while peppering his neck and beard with small kisses. Something in the way Joel looked at you made you believe he wasn't used to being showered with love.

Finally, dragging his underwear down you freed his cock and started to play with it from the base. Joel closed his eyes and rested his head back on the sofa, mouth still open. Finding a rhythm, you whimpered a little when he squeezed hard your ass with both hands, lifting your dress and digging his fingers at the outline of your panties. Your clit was pulsing for more friction.

“Keep goin’,” he blurted out with a hoarse voice.

And you did, until something sparkled inside you. Kissing him one last time, you started to move towards the ground. Nesting between his legs, you sank to your knees just like every Sunday before the outbreak, but this time it wasn’t for a prayer.

Making faster moves with your wrist, you admired the red skin of the head leaking and the weight of his cock at your palm. As you went to open your mouth and take him, something changed.

“Shit,” he muttered and you felt some softness in his cock. He had lost his erection.

Biting his mouth corners, Joel was ashamed. His eyes avoided yours, who only wanted to help. Moving from the ground to the sofa, you placed a kiss on his jaw, forcing him to look at you.

“I still want you, just like before." You helped him to close his buckle and belt, with a smile on your face.

He was still uncomfortable, you knew it, but you kept looking at him as if he was the best damn thing.

“I’m sorry. It’s been a while.” He confessed as you locked hands with his, not letting him go.

“For me too. We can find our own time.” He kissed you sweetly and you hoped that he believed in you as you poured your whole heart in his lips.

-

“He lost his boner, so what? I find it kinda sexy,” Nath started as you rolled your eyes. “I’m not joking, I do! There’s something about the desperation of it that makes me horny.”

It was late at night, the next day after Joel’s visit. You were sat in Nath’s bed with her, a white sheet above your heads and a flashlight in the middle. Two cold beers, one for each as well. It was a vent ritual and at that moment, you needed to vent about how it went.

“Can you focus? I was fine at the time, but now I think maybe I did something wrong…" You felt a little guilty of sharing such intimate details with her but knew she wouldn't judge (too hard) or tell him about it.

“Why would it be something you did? It's his dick, not yours." She stated while taking the sheets from above both your heads.

You bit your lip avoiding her stare. Why were you making a big deal of it?

"Are you a virgin? You shitting me?" Nath screamed at you, leaving her beer at the table. Of course, she would make a drama of it.

"No, stupid. Not every Mormon is an angel, you know?" You took another sip of your beer, maybe with enough alcohol you could take this conversation. "It's just... I haven't done it in such a long time and don't have that much experience. I don't want to make a fool of myself."

Nath furrowed her brows and looked up, pondering about your statement. Having sex isn't a priority when you don't have a safe place to live or could die at any moment from a runner's bite. Your first time was more of a "fuck you" to Albert than a product of romance.

"Let me get this straight: are you asking me for sex tips?" Nath gave you a shit eating grin. She wouldn't let this die. "You're getting down and dirty with the cowboy, huh?"

“At least trying to,” you retorted and she laughed.

"Want my honest opinion? He's an old man. Sometimes old men get trouble to pump up the jam." You looked at her confused, what was she talking about? "Not into eurodance? Fine, it’s natural. Old men have penises problems!”

“So I haven’t done something wrong?” You passed the whole scene again in your head, trying to see if you lost some detail. Nope, nothing.

“You were about to suck him off. I can guarantee to you: you aren’t the problem.” Nath finished her beer and went back to be under the sheets. You gave a final gulp in your glass and joined her.

“If I’m not the problem, how can I be the solution?”

This made Nath think a little further. Joel wasn’t close to her and Ellie hadn’t necessarily spoken about her surrogate father’s sexual behavior. You were in the dark.

“Honestly? I had two boyfriends and they were our age, I don’t know much about hot silver foxes. What I do know is that you lassoed the cowboy. He went to the library today, right?”

He did. Not only had lunch with you but also kissed you deeply between the bookshelves. Your arms were looped around his neck, hands on his curls – your new favorite spot. Joel was smiling on your lips.

“You seem too happy,” breaking the kiss, you asked him with curiosity.

“I like when you touch my hair, it feels good.” He said without thinking, kissing you again.

“I wanted to touch your hair for the longest time.”

Putting a small distance between you, Joel caressed your cheek and analyzed your face for a while. Getting suspicious, you pouted at him. He seemed to be lost in his thoughts, too far to reach. His dark brown eyes a little hazed.

"Joel?" You asked unsure, he blinked back at you, his thumb on your cheek again.

“Sorry, what did you say?"

Sucking your bottom lip, you felt a little weird. Was the hair commentary too much? What if it was too soon? You never had a boyfriend, Joel had way more experience than you. Jesus, you didn’t even know when someone would become a boyfriend, let alone the steps to it. Getting self-conscious, you let go of his embrace going back to work.

"Nothing, don't worry," you put on your best fake smile hoping he wouldn't notice it, but of course he did.

Not having it, Joel followed you to the other shelf and tried again. He asked one more time what had you said to him, this time you went behind the counter and spoke the truth.

“Good ‘cause I wanted for you to touch it for the longest time too," he smiled at you in a boyish way. You couldn't help but smile back.

The bliss was short lived as the library bell rang. Esther came inside with her raven hair and blue eyes, always impeccable, always beautiful. You knew that she was about to start at the council, but seeing her next to Joel made you feel small.

“Hey, Dolly. Do you mind if I interrupt to speak with Joel?” You did. A lot. Instead, you just shook your hair and went to your board. "Maria asked me to come find you to remember that tonight we'll eat at her house, not the mess hall. She wants to make a special dinner for us. See you there at 8 p.m.?"

“Ah, yeah. 8 p.m. it is.” Joel kept short, but the idea of her having dinner with him was still too much for you.

You weren't jealous, but your insecurity made you put yourself lower than it was. Joel was kissing you not even five minutes ago, hinted that he was also thinking about you with the same intensity, Esther wasn't even close to him. Stop. Being. Jealous.

“Are you alright?” Esther asked. Joel furrowed his eyebrows as they both watched you hold a broken chalk in hands. Oh.

“Yeah, I wanted to make it smaller.” You smiled trying to pretend as if nothing happened.

Esther said goodbye a few seconds later, leaving you and Joel alone again. He got closer to you, his hand at the lower of your back in a cherished manner. He was showing you how much he liked you, but you were thinking about him leaving you with a stranger woman. Stop. Being. Jealous.

“He went to the library and walked me to the Bison after it. Am I overthinking?” You groaned, Nath looked up searching for an answer.

"Maybe, but Esther stinks. She was alright before being Maria's friend, now she is just as bad." Nath rolled her eyes in anger.

“About that… Alfie came to my house and said we have some problems.”

“What kind of problems?” Her blue eyes focused on you, who took a deep breath before spilling it out.

-

Ellie was leaving the garden, ready to say goodbye to Chad when Nath came and pushed her into an alley. Making a “shh" sign at her, Ellie couldn't understand what was happening. The blonde woman showed her a piece of pink paper with the number 11 written on it.

“Who's Jesse and why are you trading my beverage with him? Don't test me." The blonde woman grunted politely, if there is how.

"He is my friend. How do you know that?" Ellie panicked. If Nath already knew, maybe more people knew about the secret place.

“Congratulations, you proved your nickname and got me in real trouble this time. Meet me in my backyard, 9 p.m. Tell Joel you'll be with Dolly." The same way she came, Nath left a confused Ellie behind wondering how much she truly knew about her underground operation with Jesse and Dina. Blinking her brown eyes at how fucked she was, Ellie took a deep breath and braced herself for it.

#tlou fanfiction #tlou fanfic #the last of us fanfic #joel miller #the last of us hbo #the last of us #tlou hbo #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x original character #joel miller x you #joel miller x fem!reader #comfort fic #wings of the dawn #wotd 6 #angst/comfort #slow burn #the orange tabby cat

[marshmallowprotection]

I feel like V deserves way more love and Saeran’s AE did him so dirty. But my blue bby will always be my fave 💙

I’m so happy that I’ve found someone who’s still doing MM headcanons and asks after so long 💗

But headcanon/thoughts on V’s reaction that MC is pregnant and they’re gonna have kids. And him holding his firstborn for the first time. My heart is just melting thinking about it 🥺💗

V is determined to be a good father. When you first adopted Lucy, he knew that he was going to make things right this time. It was a choice made with a lot of respect to his family goals. Your family goals. The ones you've created together. It wasn't made lightly. This choice was made after he spent hours thinking about what it would be like to be a father. If he could be a father at all.

These thoughts aren't easy for him. They plague him like no tomorrow on the worst nights. He knows that if he chose to be a parent, it would be a choice made with a world that could be prepared for anything.

If he chose to avoid parenthood, it would be a choice made knowingly in respect to what his priorities and feelings are.

He knows his mistakes from trying to take care of the twins but he’s learned through fire that he will have to accept hiccups and be willing to confront them instead of shying away. To be a good father means to be someone who is willing to admit when something isn’t right and to work harder on being willing to accept criticism and learn from it. 

That's a hallmark his father will never be able to achieve as he won't own up to his mistakes.

It’s not easy, and it’s something he works on every day since there’s no way to be perfect. He can only strive to be better than the day before. He does feel much more confident in the parenting situation these days. He wants to do better and he spends a lot of time communicating with other people and reading everything he can get his hands on. If he can learn something, he wants to be able to get into it and divulge the answers from top to bottom.

It's not simple, but it's important to him to not make a mistake. He can't imagine screwing up the same way he did as a child. He doesn't want a child to be haunted like he was.

He knows that's nothing compared to getting your hands super messy and putting yourself into that situation; but, it's important for him to feel like he is making progress and seeing that there are lessons that he didn't even think about. It's a process. He needs time and space to figure out where he went wrong and how to correct himself.

There are things he didn't unpack from his own childhood that he's trying to work on. It affects his parenting process. a part of his becoming a parent will come from the healing process. He can't feel like a father until he has done more work to recoup from his feelings of neglect, abandonment, or shame.

The regrets that he has from his relationship with his mother aren’t something that he wants to relive. He learned a lesson in a very hard way and he wants to make sure that his children never have to do that. He wants to make sure that they always understand that he will be there for them. He won't leave them and he won't run away.

Even if times get hard and he makes mistakes, V wants to do things the right way. He may not be a perfect person and he will be honest about that. But he will say that he is trying his best and that he wants to understand how to be better. Just be warned that his shame over what he did as a teenager hangs over him like a rain cloud.

As far as pregnancy goes, the only thing you have to worry about is him being a little bit too attentive. It may sound silly but it's not. He won't go anywhere you don't want to go. He wants to make sure that you have everything that you need and sometimes that means that he goes over the top. It's not a bad thing, it puts him in a place where he makes sure that you have anything that you could ever need at your beckon call instantaneously even if you didn't ask for it. Call him out if you see him neglecting any of his needs, though.

Old habits did hard, after all.

It's all okay when he holds his child, though. He smiles. He cries. He knows that he will do anything for this child. He won’t stop if his child needs something to be happy. Name it, and he’s on it. It’s the same way he cried when he held Lucy for the first time... the same way he felt when he wanted to protect the twins. He is determined to do things right and be the best father he can be. Even if he might make mistakes, he knows his love for his child will always outweigh everything else in his life.

If there's nothing else he knows, he knows that. No matter what comes next in life, he knows what he'll be looking out for. He'll be looking out for his partner and their kids. He's only going to be able to hold himself together for so long until he sees you, and then he just weeps. Which, will probably warm your heart in the process because he often doesn't let himself show what he's feeling, and this is a sign that he's still getting better all these years, and this is a sign that he's still getting better all these years later.

#ask #mod kait #mystic messenger #mysme #mm #jihyun kim #kim jihyun #v jihyun kim #mysticmessenger #iamallthingsasian

[saviourofzaun]

PSA: TURN OFF'S & CONFRONTATION

Alright, this is a PSA that I never thought I would be writing, but here I am, writing it. I want to make this abundantly clear: This is not directed towards anyone in particular. This is something that has been brewing for over a few months.

I consider myself an approachable roleplayer and overall person. However, there are things that I have seen happening over the course of a few weeks (even months) that does not sit right with me. I'm listing them here, so people are aware as to why I'm not as often on Tumblr anymore as I would like to be.

TURN OFF'S

Pushiness. I have had some people who pushed their muses on me, to the point where I stopped talking to them altogether. This is not only in a ship sense, but also in a plot sense. I understand that you are excited about a plot, or for our interaction. And, if I follow you, chances are that I am, too! However, there is a certain line as to spamming my inbox/IM's, where I draw the line. Especially if I have mentioned that as of right now, I'm rather overwhelmed with the many-months-old threads dusting away in my drafts, and the many asks I got. I want to hear about your ideas, and plots, but I beg you, do not haunt me for the replies/starters.

Insulting my muse/musing/my choices. I'm going to repeat myself here, but: I had it numerous times, and I will keep repeating myself: Insult my muse/rip him a new one, and you won’t get to interact with him. That is not how it works. It is one thing to dislike a muse because of the way they reacted, or perhaps the way how they carry themselves. But, if you are coming to me, accusing my muse of everything under the sun and insult them, but then still wish to interact with said muse, you can say goodbye to that.

Passive aggressiveness. I do not do well on passive aggressiveness, like, at all. I shut down. I don't know how to deal with it. If someone is passive-aggressive, I tend to grow rather anxious. This includes messages directed to me, or vague posts. Chances are even likely that I will ignore you for a bit, because I genuinely do not know how to react. And, it can even result in me dropping threads, or even unfollowing you.

CONFRONTATION

I have a very hard time confronting people on their behaviour when it comes to these things. I don't do vague posts, I don't tell them I'm uncomfortable, I simply vanish for a bit, hope it will settle down, and I pop up again. I suffer from severe anxiety, along with an avoidant personality disorder (besides PTSD, OCPD and depression). So, if I feel someone is growing (passive) aggressive towards me, throws shade, or 'vague' post, my anxiety skyrockets out of the roof. It has come to the point where I have been hiding in Discord, with particularly one person, rather than being here, because of my anxiety, and feeling discouraged. I have considered leaving a few times. Not because I want to, but because of inner demons, and anxiety. And, to be quite frank, even writing this makes me extremely anxious. A lot is happening in my private life, where I need to focus on my health. I want to be here, but sometimes I cannot, due to the fact I'm being overstimulated, overwhelmed, discouraged, or anxious. I will try to work on setting healthy boundaries, and to communicate better, because that is on me. But, I had to throw this PSA out, because this applies for everyone, and not just for a select few individuals. Thank you for understanding. Sage.

#》 𝘿𝙊 𝙒𝙀 𝙐𝙉𝘿𝙀𝙍𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙉𝘿 𝙀𝘼𝘾𝙃 𝙊𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙍? ⎯ (𝙥𝙨𝙖). #》 𝙄’𝙑𝙀 𝙁𝙍𝙀𝙀𝘿 𝙃𝙀𝙍… 𝘾𝘼𝙉𝘿𝙄𝘿𝙇𝙔 ⎯ (𝙤𝙤𝙘). #》 𝙄𝙏'𝙎 𝙏𝙄𝙈𝙀 𝙏𝙊 𝙎𝘼𝙔 𝙂𝙊𝙊𝘿𝘽𝙔𝙀 ⎯ (𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙪𝙚).

[plethora-of-imagines]

HIello! Would you please write a Missyxreader where they're together but Missy sometimes uses mind control to make her follow what she says (like staying on the tardis while she's conquering worlds or to stop a fight between them) and the reader discovers it? I don't really know how the end could be but i trust your writing

“No! I am not letting you anywhere near me ever again!” 

Pushing Missy away from you hurt, you had loved her so much. You still loved her. But you couldn’t allow yourself to stay with someone who would ignore your choices like that. Who knows how long she had been messing with your mind? Destroying all sense of you that you had...

How could you even know that your love for her was genuine? Was it actually yours?

“Now, dear, let’s not be hasty and do something we may regret,” her slow tone almost sounded lazy. Uncaring.

Has this happened before? Did she not care because she knew that she could get you back whenever she wanted to?

“I won’t calm down Missy! How can I ever trust you again! You’ve been using me as a plaything for who knows how long!”

Your attempts to avoid her were impossible in the shared space of her TARDIS. Worst idea ever to let your anger get the better of you. This confrontation should have happened outside. A place where you were surrounded by people that could be used to help you make your escape. 

Scoffing Missy attempted to invalidate your fears.

“So I occasionally used my talents to help keep you safe when you wanted to come on trips far too dangerous for you. Is that such a bad thing? I was trying to avoid an argument over something I clearly knew better about!”

“Missy. That doesn’t make removing my own free will okay! How can I ever trust that anything between us was real? That I ever had anything to do with any part of our relationship. I- ugh! I can’t explain it to you in a way that would make you understand.”

Tears flooded your eyes. The dark paneling of the walls blurring in your clouded sight. Arms harshly gripped your body, keeping you from fleeing any further.

“Shhhh, shhh, Mistress has you. I’ll make it all better.”

The pain built up in your head as something, someone forced their way into your very being. Twisting your neurons until they were alight with connections you had never made yourself. Slowly you could feel all your anger and worries drifting away into a part of your mind that you could no longer reach. 

Hmm. Why had you started to fall asleep in the console room?

“Tsk, you need to take better care of yourself, darling. Almost fainted from lack of nourishment! You really should let me take better care of you, is your independence really worth the risk of illness you seem to invite.”

“Mhm, Missy. I’m dizzy.”

Sighing fondly she picked you up in her arms. 

“Let's get you back to bed.”

(452 words)

#missy x reader #anon

[linawritestwst]

HI, hello >:)))

I saw you were doing matchups and I wanted to ask for one!

Personality:

I am often described as silent and I have a quiet voice (but I still can speak loudly if I try), If I get a dollar for the amount of times people ask me to repeat what I said louder I'd be a millionaire. But I can get talkative at times–when I'm having a good time or if the topic is something I'm immensely interested in.

I am lazy; I only do things when I really need to but if it's not important? I chill in bed. I also procrastinate a lot with everything. And yet at the end of the day, I still get things done decently. But sometimes, when I feel inspired or motivated, I do the things usually I'm lazy to do.

Crowds can stress me out. My temper rises and I get frustrated easily when there's too many people around. Usually when there's visitors, I lock myself in my room until they're gone (which is pretty rude actually 😭).

I am quite shy too but, there's a part of me that wants to be confident and be on stage for some reason, even though I have no talent that has anything to do with a stage. And a part of me wants to stay in place. If there's something I really need to do however, like speak a poem or play a character for a roleplay in front of people–I do give it my all and push my shyness away in the mean time. Maybe it's because I don't want to disappoint my group mates or because I try to avoid embarrassment at all cost.

Also, I like expressing myself. Whenever we have an activity (mostly writing) that involves self-expression or speak my opinion, I get really excited. Because for everyone else, I seem to be an enigmatic person because of how closed-off or quiet I am so I want them to know me atleast a bit better enough to see me as someone who can be their friend.

I don't like going outside. Too exhausting for me and I don't really have any particular reason to.

My friends say I'm optimistic but I prefer to be called as a realist.

I consider every possibility and forgets probabilities so I can get very indecisive and usually postpones making a choice for as long as possible. I also avoid confrontation a lot.

Preferences:

I don't have a favorite color.

And I like a variety of foods like salads, fruits, and tofu. I like sweet things too (especially chocolate) but I don't like cakes. I don't hate or like meat. I hate sea food but salmon can pass. I like to drink coffee, smoothies, and milk tea.

I like wearing wide pants and long dresses that cover up my knees. And even if I said I have no favorite color, I actually like wearing white and black outfits.

Appearance:

I don't think I'll say much cause I don't like talking about how I look.

I have dark circles under my eyes. For some reason, no matter how much I drink water or sleep it never leaves my face 🕴️.

I'm short, maybe around 5'0 but not above 5'4.

I have long hair, straight but curly on top (my hair is one of the things I hate on myself lol.

I think that's about it about me. Perhaps this is pretty long, and I'm sorry 💀.

I wish you good luck and enjoy doing the match up requests! Merry Christmas in advance :D

i saw the words "merry christmas" and. wow. i really should finish working on these matchup requests IT'S ALMOST MARCH

hi, i hope you enjoy your matchup!

the character that i think would be a good partner for you is..

silver!

i'll explain why i chose him:

silver doesn't mind you being quiet at all. in fact, he enjoys listening to you talk very much, it relaxes him and it feels like a nice break from more.. uh, louder students sebek. your voice can easily make him feel sleepy too.. in a good way, of course! he finds your voice very calming! however, he will try his best to stay awake so that he can listen to you. he makes sure you feel comfortable around him and he wants you to know that you can talk about anything you want. he really likes those moments when you become more talkative and open, it's like he sees a different side of you and he is very happy to see it.

he loves chilling in bed with you! you two would most likely cuddle a lot too. he thinks it's impressive how you still manage to get everything done no matter how much you procrastinate. he would try his best to motivate you when you don't really feel like doing something, but also.. he has to admit that taking a break with you sounds really good right now. also he wouldn't really force you to go outside if you don't want to and he knows how exhausting that can be, but he still would love it if you spent at least a little bit more time outside. it's good for you, you know!

he thinks your shyness is actually kinda cute, but if you want to work on it and become more confident, he'd be glad to help. whenever you have to do some kind of task, he's there to support you and he tries to help you calm down and not worry too much about it. he's a very chill person, so his personality helps you feel more relaxed whenever you're around him. he also loves to see you expressing yourself and even though you can't see it on his face, he actually gets really excited whenever he gets to know something new about you.

#twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland imagines #twst imagines #twst headcanons #twisted wonderland matchups #twst matchup

[novelmonger]

Dear A.,

It's been a year already--maybe more, maybe less, depending on how you're counting. It's hard to believe, isn't it? It's already been so long.

It's been over a year since I heard your voice, but I can still remember it so clearly. I still remember the way you would say my name. (The way your sister would make that trilling sound when she was excited, the way your brother would yell my name and then ask me the most random question.) I still remember how you would casually slip Japanese words and phrases into the conversation, with such a good accent, too (as far as I could tell, anyway).

No one else in my life will say tonikaku to get the conversation back on track. No one else says, "Bye ne!" when signing off.

I don't think I realized how desolate my life would seem without that.

I miss your smile. I miss your laugh. I miss the steady dependability of knowing that every Friday night, every Saturday morning, I would spend with you.

I miss the way you would pace back and forth when you were excited or wanted to get a thought out. I miss the way your house smells. I miss the sound of slippered feet shuffling over the kitchen floor. I miss your dad's dry wit, your mom's fussing and chattering.

I miss you.

I think I made the right choice when I said goodbye. Sometimes--sometimes--I think I did the right thing. Other times I have to wonder what on earth possessed me to do what I did. Why I didn't stick it out longer. But even if I did the only thing I could think to do, I still have so many regrets.

I regret not being more gracious to you. I wanted to keep the peace in the midst of our disagreements, but I don't think I said out loud strongly enough that if you felt certain things would violate your conscience, you shouldn't do them. Just as I was asking you to afford me enough dignity to make my own choices to the best of my ability and allow me to be wrong, I should have made sure you understood I wasn't judging you for coming to a different conclusion than me.

No, more than that--I should have said, "God bless your endeavors." I can't remember if I said that or not. If I truly believed it, back then. But now, I know that above all I want to say, "If you believe you're doing what is pleasing to God, what God is asking you to do at this time, then may He bless you in it. And whoever of us is wrong, may His truth shine out so clearly that we will see it for what it is."

I regret my lack of boldness in talking to you. I'm a coward in many ways, and I'm not proud of it. I'm trying to work on it. When I realized that saying exactly what I thought could potentially lead to the end of our friendship, I froze up. I started walking on eggshells. I got caught in the riptide of anxiety over saying the wrong thing, offending you, making you angry with me, screwing everything up. I shed so many tears, agonized for so many hours, nearly had a panic attack, chose my words so carefully, all in a frenzied attempt to keep what we had...only to lose you in the end after all.

Did you know that, when I sent that letter to you that I knew had a fair chance of ending everything between us, I would rather have died? My first coherent thought, after sending it off, was: "Please, God, just take me now." I would rather have simply ceased existing than inciting a confrontation between us.

You probably think that's cowardly, don't you? Maybe it is. Maybe I shouldn't have wished death over confrontation. But I sent it anyway, because you deserved my honesty. You deserved it all along, and I can't put into words how sorry I am that I ever tried to avoid our differences just for the sake of my own personal comfort.

I should have been a little more like you. You never shrank away from telling me exactly what you thought and felt, even when it was hard, even when it caused you so much distress. The truth was important enough to fight for, and you valued the truth as more important even than our friendship.

I was selfish. I admit it. I was selfish to try to hold everything in until it became so big and so painful that it exploded everywhere. I wasn't thinking of how much more that would hurt you. I'm so sorry.

I don't know if telling you in the beginning that I didn't believe the things you were insisting were true would have changed anything. I don't know if putting more effort into saying my piece about unreliable sources would have led to a different result at all. If I'd said, flat out and blunt, that first evening you brought up the subject, "If you don't care about understanding my perspective, this is not a conversation I'm willing to participate in," would things have happened differently?

Our ways of handling conflict are so different. For me, conflict is to be avoided at all costs, because that would jeopardize harmony--which might jeopardize the entire relationship. Which would leave me alone, which is probably my greatest fear. But maybe I should have tried harder to speak your language. Maybe then we could have found a way to disagree and argue it out without making it so personally devastating.

But I also wish you could have spoken my language a bit more too. Apologizing just for causing me pain, even if you didn't regret any of the content of what you said. Speaking the truth as you understood it, letting it stand, and hearing me out as I explained my perspective, without immediately talking over me or pointing out all the ways I was apparently wrong.

I know I was too passive in our relationship, just letting things slide over me without speaking up, because I was too afraid of speaking my mind and being a bother. Until I was the ultimate bother, I guess. I should have spoken up the first time I was uncomfortable about something, before it grew into such a monstrosity that the division devoured everything.

I'm so sorry for causing you pain. I know I did, even when you wouldn't say it. I'm sorry for not being more understanding, for thinking so much of my own pain that I often forgot that you were probably scared and sad and angry and in as much pain as I was, if not more. I wish I could have been everything you wanted me to be. I wish we could have seen eye-to-eye on everything. I'm sorry for letting you down.

It's been a year, but I can't stop wondering what you think of me. If you're still angry, still hurt. If you still think I'm compromising the truth and putting my own feelings above what the Bible says. I wonder if you feel as heartbroken as I still do, or if you've shaken my dust off your feet and left me in the past.

No matter how much I try, I can't seem to leave you in the past. You're everywhere I look. You're still inside my heart, every step I take. I open my eyes--and there's my L posters on the wall, the ones you gave me because of how much we both love him. I turn on my music--there's a song you introduced me to. I play games--on the PS4 you gave me in a stroke of such sudden generosity it still floors me. I still call my headphone splitter a "flower." I'm still subscribed to Bokksu after you introduced me to it. I log into my computer, and there's your name. I see you online, and I wonder what you're doing.

I wonder if you think about me every day too. I wonder if you're lonely. If you feel scarred, burned by the rejection of someone who'd been your friend for over a decade. I wonder if what happened has changed you--for the worse or for the better.

I wish I could tell you one thing, without opening a Pandora's Box that would only send us back to the beginning. I just want you to know that when I think of you, I remember laughing. I remember all the wonderful times we spent together. Sending each other novel-length emails about The Lost One. Playing Ratchet & Clank and Uncharted. Boiling alive in the New Mexico heat. Shivering in the early morning before anyone else was awake, talking about stories. Reading Harry Potter to you. Listening to you reading Alcatraz. Playing Flopazoids and Among Us and laughing until we cried.

That's how I think of you, despite everything. I hope you also think of me like that, without bitterness.

I wish I could take everything back. I wish I could turn back time, go back to the beginning, and do it all over again, with the lessons I've learned. The lessons you helped teach me. Maybe then I could have been a better friend. Maybe I would have been braver, less insecure, more able to say what I really meant so we could tackle what the problems between us really were, and come to a resolution that wasn't parting ways.

Or maybe everything would have turned out exactly the same, only sooner, or later. Maybe you and I were only meant to spend so much time together in this life.

But I'm glad we had the time we did. One thing I will never regret--and never have, not even in the worst of all this--was meeting you. I will never regret making the comment that sparked our first conversation, or continuing to talk to you until a true friendship was forged.

I will never regret loving you, because doing so has grown my heart and expanded my horizons in so many ways. I hope you don't regret all the time and effort and love you invested in me, because I don't think it was wasted at all.

Love,

C.

#crying into the void #if you think this is about you it probably is

[teddybeirin]

Hi, I would to participate in the reading too, if it is possible? :)

Here is my story, which I hope it is not weird somehow 😄i:

I am an adventurous person, I feel like I need to search for adventurous activities all the time, sometimes it makes me feel exhausted, because I feel so active with my energy. When something did not meet my condition of exciting interest I feel sad, sometimes even crazy about it. I do love doing activities especially with my family, but I don't know how to describe, but when unknown/new peoples coming to join us, I feel uncomfortable that I always try to avoid them or make up some stories to go away or suppress myself in a while, I know it is weird, but I just feel uncomfortable and not like being myself.

I would like to ask about twin flame, anything about them.

My initials are S, capricorn sun 🥰

Thank you so much for offering this amazing reading even the condition for the free reading is cool! ;)

Here I am shown that you are searching for someone to meet you at your level, seeking stability and certainty. As of now, though, self-misdirection and illusions cloud your vision, blocking you from seeing what is important as of now and what/who is to come. There is a sense of straining, strong desire, feeling displaced, and confusion.

As of now, the person who best fits that title is stuck in a mental rut, struggling to find purpose and move forwards after an event that left them feeling betrayed and completely deconstructed their ideas of who they are and what their place in the world is. Again, do not focus on them too heavily now.

They are coming near, but intimacy would not be for some time after the two of you meet. It has to grow naturally, and it cannot be rushed - this person is slower to grow comfortable with others than you. I don't tend to look far, but I get the strong sense that you should not be waiting on this person to arrive, do not place your focus on them. There is something delicate about the situation that would be soured by forcefulness and/or expectation.

Both of you are in the process of trying to grow, and it is not easy or quick. Romance is not their current priority, and here there is a need for your focus to be on introspection, learning from outside sources, self-actualization.

There are inner feelings of yours that you've been ignoring for some time now - something you already know, but do not want to confront. In regards to a connection like with your twin flame, your purpose for wishing for it is unclear within your heart. Although you seek romantic answers here, what comes through center stage are ones regarding your own maturation and growth.

You are being encouraged to find inner clarity, which can be done only when you allow yourself the freedom to explore your emotions and your truest wishes without judgement. Set aside your preconception of what is "meant to be". The obvious, the surface level, is illusory. Nothing that is meant to be will matter much if you are not able to learn from it, adapt to it, live with it. You are strong enough to allow what you are ignoring to come into your view, but you block yourself from your own will for reasons not shown to me.

Try not to build up ideas about it all - look at who they are, whoever and whatever comes to you, whoever shows you interest, whoever you are interested in. The best choices for you to make regarding this matter are sincere and heartfelt, and for that you need to be able to accept what is, and let go of expectations for who they 'should be', regardless of whether or not you go into a romantic relationship in the near future.

Trust your intuition rather than your desires. If it is to be, it would be whether you knew of it or not. If you fulfill your needs through other means here and now, when love comes to your door your connection will be all the better and less strained for it.

I hope that you have found this helpful in some way, S! Thank you for allowing me to read for you, and for the story you've shared with me in return for this. I'm wishing you all the best with all you do.

There are currently 5 slots open for free card readings in exchange for a story. Please read the terms here before sending in a request!

🍯 Tips are appreciated, but in no way required. 🧸

#my readings