#It would be better if they could live long enough to see such a thing too

[moonlight-prose]

“please don’t make me say it if you aren’t going to say it back” with a desperately in love with joel reader would hit so much…

weaved around your finger like yarn

a/n: me writing for joel again?? this has sat in my inbox for over a year and i never meant to actually take this long with it. but i finally figured out how to write this concept. and now i am actually obsessed with the small world of softness i created for these two. this is yes jackson joel, but nothing bad happens ever to him because why would it? it's all fine right?

summary: he never made space in his life for love in the aftermath of destruction. the after of his life he once thought would extend past decades of gray hair, smile lines carved in around his mouth now set in frowns and sneers. but snowfall and alcohol blur the lines for both of you when winter comes to jackson.

word count: 1.6k+

pairing: joel miller x reader

warnings: not explicit, love confessions, heavy makeout sessions, alcohol consumption, tipsy joel, sad joel, laughter at the end of the world, hope.

He can't remember laughing until his stomach hurt. The ache that spilled into his chest, warming his insides with a sun like quality that left him shivering. He can't recall the feel of his cheeks pulled so wide the sensation became a phantom pain seconds after. He knows it happened. He can distinctly recall the jokes, the joy. But the laughter lingers like a ghost at the back of his mind—translucent and gray and distorted enough to feel false.

Alcohol simmers in his stomach with a rueful intent. A malignant aftermath that would hit him in a few hours after two months of attempted sobriety. Ellie insisted, he accepted. Easy enough to say. Difficult to follow through with.

He had his days where whiskey sounded better than the flavor of bacon Tommy would bring him in the early mornings. But the dismay in your eyes helped him hold off, regain his awareness of a world not yet shattered. For once in quite a long time...he finally lived. For you, for Ellie, for Sarah.

He lived to see his hair grow longer and the grays appear more frequently. To drink coffee in the mornings on a porch you were already settled on. To help you fix small things here and there in your cabin next door. He lived for your smile, the light in your eyes. The curve of your lips as they pulled up into bolstering peals of laughter—the furrow in your brow as you frowned from endless frustrations on long hard days.

Joel Miller lived to love you.

He existed to dig his heels in and wait shit out—it's what he was good at, what he knew how to do. But for you he relented quicker than ice on a hot asphalt driveway back home in Texas. His mind became sand that slipped through your giving hands—heart a fluttering mess that sang a tune he could never get right on the guitar stashed in his living room.

Days bloomed into weeks which grew into months. Eventually a year passed and what used to be difficult and awkward to be around people again, felt like breathing the fresh winter air. The jackets he managed to find hung on hooks by the door, a pair of heavy boots beside the small table Tommy crafted him.

The mornings were nice. When hot water hit ground coffee and the aroma plagued his kitchen for hours at a time. The evenings called you towards him—simple cooking skills shared in the confines of a home he pined for you to reside in.

Life was a sliver of peace he never imagined he'd get again. But the hole in his heart never faded, the pain still rang out sharp enough to have him clamping down on the inside of his cheek. And your smile made his stomach ache with a longing deep enough to scar.

Tommy told him to buck up and do something. Ellie called him a fucking idiot.

You...gave no indication you felt the same way. So silent and reserved he would remain.

Your feet slid on icy, fingers gripping tightly to his jacket with a yelp in a quick attempt to save yourself from slamming to the ground. Joel snickered loud and brash and a wash of embarrassment burned under frozen cheeks. Dragging you up, his arm looped tightly around your waist—hand pressed harsh and insistent to the small of your back. You swallowed the butterflies at the sight of his face flushed red—eyes shining from the effect of too much whiskey.

"We were bad tonight," you muttered, breath forming a cloud between your faces.

He grinned—skin buzzing at the close proximity of your form. "Only a little bit."

"You're not supposed to drink Joel."

Leaning in he traded his smile like a secret; you tucked it into your chest with a sharp breath. "I won't tell if you don't, darlin'."

"Joel..."

"C'mon. No one's gettin' in trouble here."

A blade pierced your heart brutally—spilling crimson along pale white snow. Even as Joel remained entirely unaware of how you clung to him. How your body called his name—your mind plagued with thoughts of his being, with images of his smile, with the sound of his raspy voice. He'd never know the way you cherished each moment with him. The mornings tucked away from an unruly world—the nights shared between friends who might one day be more.

Your teeth scraped along the cracked skin of your bottom lip, eyes cast up to the curl of his lips. The words sprang forth faster than you could drag them back. Your chest of secrets unlocked and bared to the man who drowned you in his small flecks of joy. Later you'd blame the alcohol. When the headache ravaged your head and an ache lingered between your thighs.

Later you'd comb over every small glance and breathy word.

"I like spending time with you Joel," you breathed, fingers toying with the front of his leather coat. "I like...um..."

The breath caught in his throat, gaze desperate to catch yours. "Yeah sugar?"

"It's a hard thing to say." Another cloud of your whiskey tinged breath filled the air.

"You can tell me anythin'. You know that right?" Even as hope flared bright and scorching through the width of his chest. "I'll listen."

Hesitation spilled into the night, your voice a soft whisper he barely caught. "Please don't make me say it if you aren't going to say it back."

Oh didn't you know?

Did you not see how his gaze dug beneath the layers of flesh and bone, of tendons and veins that clung to your form? Did you not understand he would take a bullet for you? That he'd bear the wound of a warrior's death to keep you alive? How could you not know that his love stuck to his tongue with a saccharine bitterness he swallowed down like the drugs he once took to numb his mind?

You healed pieces of his soul you never broke. A marred and fucked puzzle that was meant to find a home six feet underground. By his own hand no less. He was destined to die—born to suffer—yet you swathed him wool with the promise of a peaceful life.

A future etched by the hands of love.

"Say it," he pleaded, frozen hand cupping your cheek.

"It's more than just that." The breath you took shot adrenaline down his spine. "I like our mornings. I like our dinners and conversation. And even when you come into town with me. But I...I love..."

The glossy nature of your eyes created by unshed tears that pooled at your waterline dug the knife deep enough to meld it within his heart. You didn't know. You couldn't have. His silence, his hesitation, swallowed every emotion he might have told you—every secret uttered in the shadows of night that told only half his story.

He told you about Sarah. About their life together, about her smile. That in itself felt like a proclamation of love—a key to the heart he thought stopped beating long ago.

"I knew it would freak you out," you muttered, pulling away from his hold.

Only for him to panic. His hand gripped the back of your jacket, pushing you towards him hard enough for your feet to slip again. But your gasp was swallowed by the cold press of his mouth to yours. Lips chapped by the winter air slid against your parted mouth as you froze against his chest. Your hands hung listlessly at your sides. He kissed you tenderly, attempting to wake you from the spell of shock, but to no avail did it bring you back.

"'M sorry." His words were muffled against your chin, forehead pressed to yours and eyes squeezed shut. "I shouldn't have–"

The press of your fingers into his cheeks jolted him back—eyes wide as you dragged him back with a stifled moan. Your mouth found his tongue hot and wet along his bottom lip in a pleading motion he complied to instantly. Stepping forward he fell into you with a deep groan. One that echoed and vibrated right down to your stomach—one you savored with a lick along his back teeth.

Hands cupped your ass with an insistent need to mold you closer, fingers digging into the plush flesh he longed to bite and taste. You tasted like whiskey. You smelled like him. It made him dizzy with want, anxious to lead you back to his porch—to seat you on his kitchen counter in the mornings while the coffee went cold.

"Fuck I wanna take ya home sugar," he grunted, biting at your lower lip with a grin.

Your breathless reply made the hair stand on the back of his neck. "You can."

"No." He shook his head, stealing another kiss with a gritty moan. "Not tonight. 'M gonna do this proper."

"Proper," you smiled, tugging on the longer curls you refused to let him cut. "You're such an old man Miller."

The large breadth of his hand cupped your chin, pushing the cheeks he lightly bit into together. "Won't be sayin' that tomorrow when I ain't got all this fuckin' alcohol in me."

"Yeah?" The droop of your eyelids—the darkened iris now filled with lust—set his teeth on edge. His body hummed with a new buzz he craved since meeting you. "Prove it."

"Oh I will." He grinned sharply, licking his teeth like a wolf waiting to pounce. "Don't you worry 'bout that."

A glimmer in your eyes caught his attention, the grip on your face loosening. "You know I love you right darlin'?"

You smiled—big and bright—and Joel felt another piece of his soul set back into place. "I love you too Joel."

[swanqueenelmaxshadowhunters]

Honestly it baffles me the amount of people who can't read between the lines or that refuse the simple "actions speak louder than words"

Yeah, it's rushed, we could have had at least one more episode so they could have slowed down a bit but still.

People who says that "a world without Vi is a perfect world" I know you are just a stupid fuckass because you hate her for no reason and you're just pissed that your ship wasn't developed. I'm sorry to inform you but timebomb was never the main goal. You should be happy that you got it at all.

People saying Cait's arc was weak because she didn't say "I'm sorry" or something like that, you didn't pay attention at all to her, did you? She's not a woman of words. She's the kind of person who acts.

As much as I wanted Vi and Jinx to be able to live together and happy (because boy, they did deserve after everything) I know this would never happen. Why do you think she told Vi to let herself be happy for once? (Not with those words but you know) And then she walked away? She knew that as long she was there, Vi would never let herself be happy because Vi didn't think she deserves to be happy.

Reuniting with Vi and seeing that she never gave up on her gave Jinx the closure she needed to move on with her life and if you can't see that, you don't know Jinx at all.

Another thing that's pissing me off A LOT is people saying Vi didn't gaf about Jinx's "death" (yes, I believe she escaped) like, what else do you want? Vi screaming and crying apparently is not enough. And this just makes me certain that these people saying this never experienced grief at all. They have no idea how grief works.

And don't get me started on caitvi. I don't know what else they expected because the way they looked at each other in that scene was enough for me. They love each other SO MUCH. They aren't the type of cute love confessions. They don't do that. Maybe one day they will let slip an "I love you" but that's it.

There's a lot of things that could have/should have gained more attention, yes, but arcane is definitely a great show. Better than many shows I watched recently.

No one will ever make me hate Vi, Cait or Jinx. Ever.

I knew we would eventually reach a point where masses of people would misinterpret Arcane, but I never imagined it would be this bad.

Yes, I absolutely agree that season 2 was rushed, especially Act 3, and it is undeniable that the series would have benefited from at least one more episode if not an entire act. However, the current discourse about the show is so superficial that it's impossible to have a conversation about anything deeper but a mere synopsis of the characters and story.

So many of you expected this series to hold your hand and dumb everything down so you can understand it. But when it wasn't the case, you all started rioting and calling the characters vague, the plot bad, and the ships underdeveloped.

The amount of people who value spoken text more than the actions of the characters is worrying. And more worrying than that is the amount of those who interpret the said actions so superficially. I can't believe it needs to be explained that it wasn't Vi's death that led to the "good" timeline, but the lack of hextech. The result would have been the same if either of them had died. It wasn't about Vi, but about the child that died because of dangerous technology and that therefore that technology must not be used. The mischaracterization of Vi in general is insane. Call me biased and unfair, but the moment I hear you don't like her I will assume you didn't understand the show.

Also, the whole discourse around Caitvi scene in episode 8 is giving brainsmooth. No, Vi didn't choose Cait over Jinx, quite the opposite. No, Cait didn't plan all of it to fuck Vi. No, Vi didn't do it because she felt forced or because she is a horny animal who doesn't care about her sister. No, them fucking in a cell is not about the class difference, but about the fact that Vi felt an insane rush of emotions after realizing that Cait would let go of her revenge and help Jinx escape, all for her. Yes, I do agree that it would be nice if we got a longer conversation between Vi and Caitlyn and it would feel great to hear Cait apologize, but I'll always value actions over words. Her talking to Jinx, recognizing that she is just as bad as her, and choosing to trust Vi that her sister can change, thus letting Jinx escape will always mean more than any verbal apology and I'll die on that hill.

Also, it was Jinx's decision to let go and walk away. It was not about Vi trying to get to Vander, but about Jinx being tired of everything. Even if that fight didn't happen, the result would be the same: Jinx would leave because she knows that Vi couldn't do that. She knew that the two of them couldn't have a normal life together and that Vi would never give up on her. Jinx didn't "die" because Vi pushed her or failed her, but because she loved her too much. Whether you believe that she is dead or that she escaped, it's her decision either way.

Again, I agree that too much happened too quickly, but stop confusing your stupidity and inability to read between the lines with the quality of the series.

Arcane is flawed but still brilliant.

[seleneprince]

The MC from my yandere!batfam au

Name: Lucia Wayne-Perez

(This got too long, ops. And there's more coming)

-Her mother was a whore, living in a pretty shitty neighborhood and working for equally shitty people. She got pregnant after a one-night stand with Bruce Wayne. She was told to abort the baby, since not only it would be a burden to her job, but she wouldn't been able to give her a good life.

-However, she refused everytime. She briefly considered using the baby to get a hold of the Wayne's fortune, but as time passed, she decided to keep her precious babygirl to herself instead. The rich society wouldn't ever accept them anyway, and if they gave a shit, it'll be only to take Lucia away from her for being a Wayne.

-For the first time in her life, the woman had something worth living for. Something that was entirely hers, her own creation. And she refused to let anyone take it from her.

-Unfortunately, love itself isn't enough to raise a child, as she soon found out. With a new mouth to feed, she had to work more and leave little Lucia with other people more often than not. When she became old enough, her mother chose to leave her alone at home instead, drilling in her mind to never, ever, open the door to anyone that wasn't her.

-It made her feel better knowing her babygirl was waiting for her at their home, rather that in someone else's hands.

-Lucia's happiest memories from childhood are the time she spent with her mother when she wasn't working, doing things together at home. They cooked together, watched tv snuggled at the couch, chased each other all around their little apartment between laughs.

-From outside, it wasn't a safe or healthy life for a kid. But Lucia was loved, and she was happy even when they struggled. Her mother was her everything.

-Then her little brother was born, her mother once again deciding to keep the baby against all advice, and Lucia learnt to take care not only of herself, but now of another human being as well.

-It was fine, because she adored her little brother. She wasn't alone anymore when Mommy went out to work. She had her brother to play with.

-She was homeschooled, definitely. Her mother was smarter than people gave her credit for, so she had no problem teaching them what they needed. Plus, it gave for sweet family bonding time.

-The people her mother worked for were dangerous, ruling over the town with iron fists and fear. The woman had a somewhat privileged position compared to her co-workers, but it didn't mean she was safe.

-And she found out the worst way.

-You see, Lucia's mother earned her privileges with her charm and silver tongue, not only for her "work ethic". This allowed her to get a hold on certain secrets, information she shouldn't have had. The kind of secrets that, if she shared them with anyone, they would've mean serious trouble for her superiors.

-It didn't sit right with them, of course, so they decided to eliminate the risk permanently.

-One day, a man showed up to their apartment's door, banging it loudly and yelling. Her mother grabbed Lucia and her brother in a hurry, shoved them in a closet and locked it, telling them to not make a sound until she returned.

-Through the gaps of the closet, Lucia could only see the shadows of her mother and the stranger, and heard the screams. She cried, burying her face in her brother's head to muffle the sounds, covering his mouth with her hand to do the same for him.

-At last, she heard gunshots. Several. She saw traces of blood splashed on the wall, and then silence followed. Eery, terrible silence.

-There were voices of adults talking, all men. She could heard them walk through the apartment, and she closed her eyes tightly, begging silently that they left soon so Mom could return and comfort them.

-But Mom didn't return. Instead, heavy footsteps approached them, and the closer was opened slowly.

-A man stood in front of them. Big, scary looking, and with his clothes stained in red.

-He didn't say anything, didn't move, just stared at them. Lucia held his gaze with her teary eyes, her brother holding unto her.

-"Oi, you found anything?!"

-"Nah, there's nothing in here!"

-And he locked the closet again.

-The police arrived much later, ripping the closet open apart, as if they knew they were there. They were led out of the apartment, passing the living room, where there was blood everywhere...and Mommy's corpse laying there, with a giant pool of red underneath.

-Lucia shielded her brother's eyes, but no one did it for her. She just looked at her mother, unblinking, frozen in the spot. She couldn't hear anything or anyone besides her own heart and an intense ringing in her ears.

-She had to be dragged away from the scene.

-Commissary Gordon received them on the street, after they were covered in blankets and briefly interrogated. He was the nicest of the bunch, even when Lucia remained unresponsive. He didn't ask questions, leading them to his car with a gentle hand and taking them to the police station, where they soon figured out they had no relatives to care for them.

-Gordon himself took them to the orphanage, reminiscing of a certain event several years ago when he saw another child with the same haunted look in his eyes, right after losing his parents too.

-It was only after her brother fell asleep that Lucia finally broke down.

-In the orphanage, things weren't much better. Gotham doesn't care about orphans unless they're rich. The clothes weren't the best quality, the food wasn't always warm, and sometimes the punishments for misbehaving were a bit too harsh.

-Lucia found out she hates small, closed spaces. She was thrown in one as punishment for causing trouble and got such a panic attack she fainted there.

-However, she grew to like it there despite all. She played with other kids, her brother had other people to take care of him, and she was free. She cried every night for her Mom, but the rest of the day wasn't so bad.

-Until blood tests came. Lucia knew she and her brother came from different fathers, but she had no idea who they were. Afraid that they would be separated, Lucia went out of her way to avoid getting blood tests. Hiding when there was an appointment, pretending to be sick or injured. Anything.

-It worked for a year, surprisingly. Because again, no one cares about orphans.

-But then, one of the orphanage's rich sponsors dropped for a visit, to check their donations were used properly. That person happened to have known Martha Wayne from youth...and pointed out the strong resemblance little Lucia held with the woman.

-She couldn't evade the blood test this time. The results confirmed the suspicions: She was Bruce Wayne's daughter, and meant to go live with him.

-Everyone filled her ears with praises about Bruce, about how lucky she was, how great of a father he obviously is. That everything will be better from now on. And he'll definitely let her visit her brother as much as she wishes, maybe adopting him too.

-For the first time since her mother's death, Lucia felt hopeful. As she was dropped at the Wayne manor, being welcomed by the kind butler named Alfred, she believed great things awaited her.

-It wasn't the case.

-Her father doesn't seem happy to see her, barely concealing his indifference with a quick apology over the loss of her mother (which happened a year ago by then so what's the point?). He's distant and doesn't show interest in her, handling her over to Alfred while he goes on about his day. Alfred apologized on Bruce's behalf, holding her by the hand and leading her through the manor, helping her get established in her new room.

-Lucia might've been young, but she wasn't blind, and the circumstances she was raised in only made her more observant than most children. She knew she wasn't wanted there, that she was an unpleasant surprise for her father. Which, okay, it hurt a bit a lot but she could handle it. She only had to wait for him to get used to her presence and work hard to earn his love.

-She meets Dick Grayson next, her older brother, according to Alfred. Lucia is hopeful once again. Maybe if her father doesn't like her very much, at least she can get along with her big brother.

-Wrong again. Dick shows pity for her situation and ruffles her hair as a greeting, talking to her in a friendly manner, but Lucia can see he's disconnected from it. He leaves as soon as he can.

-The others aren't any better, making her feel more and more dissapointed by each meeting. Tim brushes her off before they can even talk, acting as if she didn't exist. Jason is scary as fuck, being so big and grumpy (it reminds her of the man that opened the closet). Cassandra and Barbara are polite enough, greeting her when they see each other around the manor, but that's all. Stephanie seems genuinely interested at first, sitting down with her and asking questions, only to ignore her completely after some weeks.

-Turns out she was just bored and Lucia was something "new" to distract herself.

-It becomes clear that she wasn't wanted there. She was an inconvenience, someone that was forced upon them without asking for it, especially for her father.

-The whole family disregard her, and she feels how she disturbs their mood when she enters the room. How their conversations grew quieter in her presence, letting clear she wasn't part of the group.

-They hang out a lot, but never made an effort to include her unless Alfred suggested them to. Lucia couldn't stand how uncomfortable they obviously were with her there, so she was the one to tell Alfred it wasn't necessary.

-Lucia thought she only had to try harder. She noticed how all the family were so talented. She had to keep up. Prove herself to them.

-She took gymnastics classes, judo, programming, painting, everything she could try. She read books Jason liked, studied hard to get good grades. Everything she could think of to impress them and have their approval.

-Nothing worked. In fact, they only seemed more annoyed when she tried to get their attention.

-Acting rebellious was out of the question, thanks to Alfred. He taught her etiquette and how to behave in social settings now she was a Wayne. That her actions could affect the Wayne's reputation. Besides, she respected the man too much to dissapoint him like that.

-The last straw was when Damian showed up, her other half-blood brother. She expected him to be received with the same coldness and indifference, and thought that she could bond with him. She already had a younger brother she loved, having another one would be great.

-Only to feel her heart break for the umpteenth time when he was treated with such kindness and warmness, despite him acting like an asshole all the time. She spent years running herself ragged to earn a spot in the family, to get just a tiny bit of their affection, all for nothing. And he gets it all and more without even trying. Why? What's the fucking difference? What does he have that she doesn't?

-Still, she tries to reach out to him anyway, just like with everyone. He's still her brother, after all. Her actual brother, not like the others. They have the same blood, surely that means something.

-She gets her answer when he sneaks into her room one night and tries to kill her, leaving a long scar across her neck.

-Damian gets a slap on the wrist and Lucia has to hear how he had such a rough upbringing, how he doesn't know better, that it wouldn't happen again. Please, forgive him.

-And that's exactly when she gives up. She realizes she'll never part of the family, not in a way that matters. She's nothing in that house. Her father doesn't want her, her supposed siblings treat her like shit. Well fuck them. She finally got the message. From now on, she'll stay out of everyone's way.

-She has her little brother and Alfred. She doesn't need anyone else. Alfred loves her enough to fill the gap of a father, and takes care of her with the utmost dedication, practically raising her as his own.

-With time, she decides this isn't so bad. At least she gets to live in a huge mansion with plenty of places to explore, and has a nice allowance. She can get used to this. Besides, with how often they're out of the manor, she's free to roam as much as she wants.

-Now, how she gets into her...slightly illegal hobby? Well, you see, that's the thing when you neglect a kid and ignore them all the time. They're left to their own devices without supervision. And they tend to wander into places they shouldn't be.

-Out of all the classes/activities she took, programming was her favourite, along with gimmnastics. She excelled at both, but there was something about technology that called to her. It was her preferred way to distract herself when loneliness hit too hard. She spent hours browsing through internet, playing with the settings, trying new things.

-She felt an addicting kind of satisfaction the first time she cracked a code, succesfully hacking someone's phone without them noticing. She realized she could to many, many things with this skill. And it was surprisingly entertaining. The thrill of it, the challenge it supposed to her. She found her passion.

-Soon enough, this hobby became her life. She went from phones to computers, from computers to security cameras. Not even electric vehicles were safe from her. If it had some sort of software, she could hack it.

-She began to build and develop her own arsenal. Programs, computers, tablets, drones. She modified her phone to be a weapon in her hands, capable of hacking and controlling anything remotely technologic with it. This gathers the interest of the wrong kind of crowd, pushing her into dangerous, very illegal bussiness.

-She uses the money she earns from it to provide for her little brother and save it for the future, in a separate account from Bruce. She intends to get them both out of Gotham at some point, and so her moral code gets more blurry as no one is there to tell her "Stop".

-Lucia grows up as an overachiever, unconsciously to fight her insecurities, and hyper-independent, believing fully she can only ever rely on herself.

-She's also naturally good at parkour, years of gimnastic classes serving her well to climb, jump and sneak into places gracefully. She spends a lot of time on rooftops to "work", since it's usually the best place.

-She also drives her own motorcycle, a gift from Alfred himself when she got her license. However, he'll have a heart attack if he saw how she tends to drive on it.

Part 2 definitely coming, 'cause I have more lore for this girl (she still has to meet Duke)

@nebulousmoon3990

[winchesterwild78]

An Unexpected Friendship pt 9

Master List

Characters: Jensen Ackles x Reader, Reader’s daughter, Jensen’s children

Warnings/Trigger Warnings: FLUF

A/N: This is a short story written in collaboration with @cheekygirl2309.

This chapter is so full of fluff. It’s a roller coaster, but a good one. Some big things happen in this chapter. 🥰 A few time jumps.

No disrespect to Jensen or his family. This is a work of fiction and does not depict real life. Written and edited fast-please overlook any errors. 

Minors DNI 18+

Jensen left a few weeks later to go back to work. The kids and I were excited to follow him as soon as school got out for the summer. When Jensen arrived in Canada he signed the paperwork for the house and he had been living there, waiting for us. 

I was packing the kids and I up for our trip. Jensen suggested I pack enough clothes for a week, and we would get some more clothes when we got there just to keep and use while we were there. 

As we boarded the plane, the kids and I were so excited. In a few short hours we would be back with Jensen. Halfway through the flight the kids fell asleep. A middle aged woman sitting near us smiled softly, “Your children are so beautiful, and so well behaved.” I smiled at her, “Thank you. Their dad and I are incredibly lucky to have all of them.” 

She nodded and smiled. I sent Jensen a text.

Me: Hey baby, we have a few hours left, the kids are fast asleep.

Jensen: I can’t wait. Clif and I are going to meet you guys at the airport. I can’t wait to hold you in my arms. 

Me: Me either. I can’t wait to see the house either. Maybe break in that new bed. 😘

Jensen: You better believe it, all night long baby. 😀

Me: I’ll hold you to it. I love you, see you soon.

Jensen: I love you too, and I can’t wait. 

I set my phone back down and looked over at our babies. They were all sleeping peacefully and my heart warmed at the sight. These four beautiful, sleeping children were now a huge part of my life, and I couldn’t see a future without them in it. 

When we finally landed and were headed towards the gate my anxiety started to creep up. I was anxious about getting the kids off the plane and to the baggage claim where Jensen was supposed to meet us. I knew this airport was large, and I didn’t want to lose them.

“Okay guys, when we get off this plane you four hold hands and JJ, you hold on to me, okay?” They all nodded. Before we could get off the plane a stewardess approached me. “Ma’am, are you Y/N Y/L/N?” “Yes, I am. Is there a problem?” “Oh no, we’ve been asked to escort you and your children off the plane to prevent any issues with fans. Mr. Ackles called the airline and told them there were pictures of you and the children on social media with your travel information. We just want to make sure you are all safe.” “Thank you, I really appreciate it.” 

“Okay, please follow us and we will get you guys out and through the airport and to Mr. Ackles.” We followed them and hopped on a transportation cart that zipped through the airport. I’d noticed a few people had their phones out, so I told the kids to keep their heads down. I didn’t want their pictures taken unless Jensen was okay with it. 

We pulled up to a private room and we were ushered in. Inside I saw Jensen and Clif standing there. I leaped into Jensen’s arms. “Jensen! I’m so sorry baby. I didn’t know anyone was taking pictures of the kids.” He held me tight, “Hey, it’s okay baby. It happens, you are all safe and here where you belong.” 

The kids ran to Jensen when I let him go, each one hugged him tightly telling him all about the last few weeks. “Hey guys, let’s get our stuff and go home.” I smiled at Jensen when he said that. “Yes, home.” I said.

We grabbed our bags and Clif drove us to the new house. It was even more beautiful in person. The kids had their own rooms, even though Jazzy and Arrow decided to share a room, and of course Jensen and I had a beautiful suite for our room. The bathroom was just as big as the bedroom. It had a double shower, and a huge double soaker tub. “Lots of room for both of us in that shower and tub, darlin’.” Jensen said with a smirk on his face. “We might have to test them out soon, baby.” 

We got the kids in bed, and Jensen and I sat in front of the fireplace, he had a glass of whiskey and I had a glass of wine. Everything was perfect. “Jensen, the house really is beautiful. Thank you.” “Oh baby, you’re welcome. This is our home. I want you to make any changes you want to make it feel more like ours. I nodded. 

As we sat sipping our drinks my mind kept wandering back to our conversation about marriage. “What are you thinking about, sweetheart?” “Honestly?” Jensen nodded, yes. “Us, our future, getting married.” 

Jensen sat his drink down, “What about it? Are you having second thoughts?” “Oh absolutely not. I want that more than anything. I was just thinking about what life would be like being Mrs. Jensen Ackles.” I blushed a little. 

“Well sweetheart, I can tell you it would look pretty much like this, the only difference is you’d be recognized more in public.” “Yeah, I just want to make sure the kids are safe when we go out.” “They will be, you will be, I promise.” 

Jensen stood, pulled me up and into his arms. “I’m so glad you’re here baby. I’ve missed you, your lips, your body.” He started kissing down my body, “Jensen, let’s take this upstairs.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the stairs, “You don’t have to tell me twice.” I giggled as I ran with him. 

We made it to the bedroom, Jensen closed and locked the door, and we made up for lost time, and Jensen was true to his word. We broke in the bed, all night long. 

*Time Jump December*

Jensen had just gotten home from a convention. I was supposed to go with him, but I had gotten sick and couldn’t go. I was completely bummed. Jensen and I had been dating for almost a year and there were pictures of us online with speculation we were dating. Jensen and I hadn’t confirmed anything yet, but he was going to confirm it at this convention since it was the last one of the season. 

“Jens, I’m so sorry I got sick and couldn’t go with you. I know you were excited to share our relationship with your fans.” I sniffled and coughed. “Hey, it’s okay. You can’t help you’re sick. We can always make a post online if you want to.” “Once I’m better we can if you want to.” “I do, Y/N. I can’t wait to share you with everyone. I’m so proud you’re mine and Jazzy is mine.” He placed a soft kiss on my forehead, “Now you lay back down and get some rest. I’ve got the kiddos.” I nodded and snuggled back down in bed. 

A few days later I was feeling better. I was thankful Jensen was home and was able to take care of the kids while I recovered. I jumped in the shower and went downstairs to find four very excited children and an even more excited adult. 

“What are you guys so excited for?” “Mommy, Daddy Jensen is going to take us to the Austin Trail of Lights tonight.” “Oh that sounds like so much fun, do y’all have room for one more?” I chuckled. 

Jensen stepped forward and put his arms around me, turning to the kids and said, “I don’t know. What do you guys think? Do you think we should let Mom come along?” The kids looked at each other like they were considering the question. I feigned hurt and laughed. “Yes! We want mommy to go with us.” 

“Whew, I was a little worried.” I said. Jensen pulled me close, laughing as he kissed me. “Eww, stop it.” The kids said. Jensen and I laughed. 

As night started to settle over the Austin sky, Jensen, the kids and I got ready to head out to see the lights. I had never taken Jazzy, and I hadn’t been since before she was born. The hum of excitement filled the car as Jensen drove with his hand in mine. 

I glanced over my shoulder and looked at the kids’ faces as we got closer to the trail. I loved seeing Christmas through their eyes. It always reminded me of what the season was truly about, magic, love and service to others.

Jensen helped me get the kids out and we walked to the gate. We held the kids’ hands in between us. As we approached the gate, Jensen pulled out his phone and showed the lady at the front the tickets. She smiled, looked over at us and nodded. “Have a great time, Mr. Ackles. You and your family. Merry Christmas.” Jensen tipped his head at her, “Thank you, Merry Christmas to you too.” 

The six of us started to walk the trail. Jazzy was completely blown away. Her and the other three were holding hands, giggling and walking just in front of Jensen and I. I took out my phone and started taking pictures of the kids, and a few of Jensen and I. 

We were halfway through the trail when something caught the eye of the kids. It was a beautiful display of a gingerbread house with gingerbread men at the front “Mommy look!” The kids called as I turned towards them. 

“Can we take a picture, mommy? Please?” I nodded and walked up with them to the house. I was snapping pictures of them doing different poses. I was laughing at their antics and turned to get Jensen’s attention. 

When I turned I gasped. Jensen was behind me, down on one knee and a small velvet box in his hand. I turned and looked at the kids who were now holding signs that read, “Mommy, will you marry Daddy?” 

I turned back towards Jensen, completely speechless. I noticed people standing around taking videos and pictures. “Well, darlin’, what do you say? Will you marry me?” Tears fell fast from my eyes, “Yes! Yes, Jensen, I’ll marry you!” 

I leaped in his arms, kissing him and hugging him. He slid the ring on my finger, and when we looked at the kids, JJ had flipped her sign over and it read, “FINALLY!” Jensen and I laughed. 

The group of people who had gathered around us were clapping and offering congratulations. I finally took a moment to look at my ring and it was breathtaking. There was a large solitary stone in the middle, and the four colored stones around it. Each stone represented the kids’ birthstones. 

“Jensen, this is so beautiful.” “I’m glad you like it. I hope you don’t mind. I added the kids to it too.” “No Jensen, I don’t mind at all. It’s perfect.” 

When we finished the trail Jensen pulled out his phone to message Jared, Nichole and his family to let them know. He asked, finally. “So I had already told them I was going to ask you, I figured there would be people there and I didn’t want our families to find out through social media.” “That’s smart. I’m sure it’s all over social media now.” “Yeah it is.” He chuckled as he showed me his phone. 

After we got home the kids were so excited and talked non stop about Jensen and I getting married. I noticed Jazzy was a little quiet, so I pulled her to the side with Jensen to talk to her. 

“Hey Jazzy girl, are you okay? You seem sad.” “No, I’m just thinking. I can’t wait for you and daddy Jensen to get married. Are you going to be an Ackles, mommy?” “Yes baby, when I get married to Jensen my last name will change to Ackles.” “Oh, will mine?” I looked at Jensen and he looked at me, “No baby. Your last name will stay the same. Your name changes when you get married or if you get adopted.”

I saw the tears form in her eyes. “So I won’t be part of the family?” Her voice is soft and sad. Jensen pulled her into his lap, “Oh baby girl you are part of the family. Your last name doesn’t change that.” She nodded. “Daddy Jensen, what is adopted?” 

“Well, for some people it means they get a new mommy and daddy, but for you that means I would go to a judge and ask them if I can be your daddy for real. If they say yes, then you get to change your last name to Ackles.” “Daddy I want to be your baby girl for real.” 

Jensen pulled her into a tight hug and looked up at me. “Sweetie, you are my baby girl, for real and forever.” “But I’m not an Ackles.” Jensen’s heart broke a little, “Do you want to be?” He asked her. “Yes! Then I can be your real baby.” “Well if it’s something you really want, we can see about it.” 

“Yay! I get to be your baby for real.” She hugged Jensen’s neck tightly and jumped down. “Bye mommy, bye daddy.” She waved as she went out of the room.

Jensen let out a deep breath. I touched his arm, “Jens, are you okay?” “Yes, I just want her to know she’s loved and I adore her.” “She knows, Jensen. She really does.” “What do you think about me possibly adopting her?” “Honestly that would be amazing, but it’s up to you.” “Darlin’ I’d love to, but it’s not just my decision. Do you think you could arrange a meeting for me and Josh’s parents?” 

“Yes I can call them, but why do you want to speak to them?” “I think it’s only right to ask their permission for me to adopt their granddaughter, since Josh isn’t around for me to ask.” I hugged Jensen, “That sounds perfect.” I kissed him. 

The next morning I called Josh’s mom and asked if Jensen and I could come over. She was more than willing to have Jensen Ackles in her house, she was a fan. 

When we arrived, she giggled when she answered the door and I introduced them. “Jensen, these are Josh’s parents, Margaret and Bill Johnson.” They shook hands and we were invited in. 

“So, Jensen, Y/N told us you wanted to speak to us. Oh and congratulations on the engagement. We are so happy for you two.” Josh’s mom said.

“Yes ma’am, and thank you. I love her and Jazzy very much. So I wanted to speak to you two about Jazmyne. She’s an amazing little girl and I love her like she’s my own. She fits perfectly in our family. When I marry Y/N, she will officially/legally be an Ackles, Jazzy will not. So, I’ve come to you both today to ask your permission to officially adopt her. You have my word she will always be your granddaughter, you two are always welcome in our home, and she will know what an amazing father Josh was. She will just be an Ackles, legally.”

Margaret was wiping tears away, and Bill was hard to read. Then he spoke, “Son, she’s our only granddaughter. Our only connection on this Earth to Joshua. If we give you our blessing, I need your word that she will still be in our lives. We wouldn’t survive losing her too.” 

“Yes, sir. I understand completely. You have my word, I wouldn’t dream of taking her away from you two. She needs you two in her life. You two are her direct connection to Josh, and that is something that can’t ever be replaced. I assure you, I’m not trying to replace anyone in her life. I’m just trying to help her feel like she belongs with all of us too.” 

“Jensen, honey, do you mind giving myself and Bill a few days to think about it?” “Oh absolutely, please take all the time you need. Here’s my number if you two have any more questions or any concerns come up.” Margaret took Jensen’s number and nodded. “Thank you, Jensen. We really do appreciate you coming and asking us. That shows amazing character.” 

Jensen and I stood to leave, Bill pulled me into a hug and whispered in my ear, “You make him take care of you and that little girl. I’m glad you found him. He seems like good people.” I smiled and nodded, “He is, and he loves Jazzy so much.” 

Margaret hugged me after she hugged Jensen. Bill extended his hand to Jensen and shook his hand, “Jensen, son, thank you again. We will be in touch soon.” Jensen nodded and the two of us walked out to the car hand in hand.

Climbing in the car, there was a silence that fell between us. “I think that went well, Jensen. I really do.” Jensen nodded, “Yeah. I just hope they say yes. I don’t want Jazzy to feel like we don’t want her to be part of the family.” “I think they will, they just need to talk about it. They just want to make sure you are true to your word. I know you are, but they are a little worried.” “I get it completely. I would be too. I just wish there was a way I could convince them.” 

I took his hand in mine, “I know baby, just be patient.” He nodded and we drove home. When we got home Jensen went ahead and contacted his attorney to find out what he’d need to adopt Jazzy. “No, I’m not ready to move forward yet. I just wanted to know what the process would be. Yeah, okay. Thanks buddy. Yeah, I’ll call you back when I’m ready.” 

“So it seems like it's a pretty easy process. Since Josh is gone I don’t have to wait the standard length of time when two parents are involved. I just need your permission as her surviving parent.” “Well you know you have it, Jensen.” “I know, baby. I know.” 

A few days later Jensen’s phone rang. He showed me the caller ID. It was Josh’s parents. We walked into our bedroom to take the phone call. “Hello?” Jensen answered. “Hello, Jensen, this is Bill and Margaret Johnson. How are you today?” “Oh hello, Mr and Mrs Johnson, I’m doing great, how are you two?” “Please call us Bill and Margaret, and we are great. So I’m gonna get right to it. We talked about what you asked. We definitely have some reservations about it.” 

Jensen’s face fell slightly. I touched his hand. “I understand, sir.” Jensen said softly.

“However, we talked and we know how much you love our girls. We’re going to trust your word, son. You keep us in her life and take care of her, and we are more than happy to give you our blessing.” 

Jensen sat stunned. I squeezed his hand. “Son, are you still there?” Bill asked into the phone. “Oh yes, sir. I’m sorry. Thank you both so much. You have no idea what this means to me, to Jazzy.” “I think we do, Jensen. You take care of our girls.” “I promise I will. Y/N and I would also like to invite you two to celebrate Christmas with us and the kids. You’re family now, and that means you come for holidays, birthdays and other important things. You’re also going to have three more grandchildren by proxy.” Jensen laughed. Bill and Margaret chuckled, “Well I think we can handle that, Jensen. Are you sure we won’t be intruding on Christmas?” “Absolutely not, please come.” “Sure, we will be there.”

“Great! I’ll send you all the details when we get them finalized, and Bill, Margaret, thank you both again.” “You’re welcome, Jensen.”

Jensen hung up and pulled me into his arms, spinning me around. “I need to call my lawyer. I want to get this done ASAP.” I smiled at him, he was so excited and he was making me fall more in love with him. 

He came back into the room with a smile on his face. “Our court date is next week.” “Wow! That was fast, Jensen. How did you pull that off?” “Well I went to high school with the clerk of court, she pushed us on to the calendar. We have to go by the lawyer’s office to fill out the paperwork so he can file it. We can stop by tomorrow.” 

I nodded, “That sounds amazing, now we have to tell Jazzy.” Jensen nodded and walked downstairs to where the kids were playing. 

“Jazzy, can you come here please?” Jensen asked as he walked into the room. Jazzy came over and sat down beside us. “So Jazzy, mommy and I went to talk to Grandma and Grandpa Johnson about me adopting you. I told them how much I loved you and mommy and I asked them if they would be okay with me adopting you so you can be an Ackles. They told me they were okay with it.” 

“So daddy is going to adopt me?” Jazzy asked with wide eyes. “Yes baby girl, if you want me to.” She leaped into his lap, “Yes! I get a daddy again, and a brother and sisters.” He kissed her head and she jumped down.

I chuckled, “Well, I guess that was a yes.” “Yeah I think so too.” Jensen smiled, leaned over and kissed me.

*Time Jump Day of Court*

The kids, Jensen and I walked hand in hand into the courtroom. Josh’s parents, Jared and Gen, Nichole, and Jensen’s parents were all there. I was shaking and I was so nervous. Jensen held my hand, kissing the back of it, trying to steady my nerves. 

When the judge called our case, Jensen’s attorney spoke first. Then the judge, “Is the child present in the courtroom today?” “Yes, sir, she is.” “Can she step forward?”

I took Jazzy’s hand and stood beside her in front of the judge. “Jazmyne, I’m Judge Matthews, do you understand why you’re here today? She looked at me and I encouraged her to speak.

“Yes sir. I want Daddy Jensen to be my daddy for real and you get to say if we can or not.” “That’s right. So I just have a few questions for you, if that’s okay?” Jazzy shook her head, “Yes, that’s okay.” 

The judge smiled at her, “Okay young lady. Why do you want Jensen to be your daddy?” Jazzy stood there for a minute thinking about what to say, then when she opened her mouth, the whole courtroom fell silent. “I want Jensen to be my daddy because he makes my booboos better. He gives the best, biggest hugs. When mommy got hurt he kept me safe and when I was sad he made me better. He loves me and mommy too. He’s my daddy, like my Daddy Josh.” 

The judge nodded at her and smiled. “So you want Jensen to adopt you and you become an Ackles?” “Yes!” She squealed in delight.

The judge talked to me and Jensen for a few minutes. He asked if there was anyone present who wanted to make a statement on the adoption and Bill raised his hand, my breath hitched and a lump formed in my throat.

“Your honor, my name is William Johnson. Jazmyne is my granddaughter. Her father was my son Joshua. I came here today in support of this adoption. It saddens me that my son was never able to be the father that Jazmyne deserves, but I know with all my heart he sent Jensen to her and Y/N. This man loves this child like she was his own, so this adoption is just a formality at this point. I implore you to allow Mr. Ackles to adopt our little Jazzy.” 

The judge nodded, thanked everyone and said there would be a brief recess so he could come to a decision. 

About 30 minutes later we were being called back into the courtroom. When the judge was seated he asked for Jazzy, myself, Jensen and the other kids to step forward. 

“So making a decision like this isn’t one I take lightly. I look at all the evidence, talk to everyone I need to and above all I take into consideration how the child feels about it. Jazmyne, you, your mom and Jensen step forward slightly, please.”

The three of us moved forward. 

“After carefully weighing all the evidence I’ve come to the decision that from this day forward, Jazmyne Marie Johnson, will now be legally known as Jazmyne Marie Ackles. This is my order, entered this 13th day of December. Congratulations, Jazmyne. You are now an Ackles. 

The courtroom erupted in applause and Jazzy leaped in Jesen’s arms. Her arms pulled tightly behind his neck, she placed a soft kiss on his cheek and said, “You’re my daddy now, please don’t leave me.” He kissed her softly on the head, “I’m not going anywhere sweetheart, and neither are you, Jazmyne Ackles.” 

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[ranticore]

answering all my asks in a big bunch

@help-system

it's kind of cool to think about actually & something i didn't consider (re: the implications for future generations). the reason he has to stay in a town flock isn't just because he's formed attachments there, but because he is vision-impaired and his feathers are fucked from lack of structural pigment and would struggle to live without the support system (for lack of a better term) of the town around him. his survival depends on living in a society. that also means he'll survive to pass on this trait when otherwise he would not. it's recessive so yeah could definitely be passed on!

@focshi

Oh habitat & life habits change the look of the nests completely. for the ama plains eagle harpies I was imagining a kind of gourd-shaped woven bower.. sortaaa like this as the eastern edge of the plains (where they live) has emergent columnar basalt and it's on these big stone stacks where they make their nests. use rope and picks to secure the bowers to the columns and the king's eyrie (the tallest one naturally) is built around a log tied upright with guy-ropes driven into the stone. they are all flexible enough that they blow around a lot in the wind without suffering much damage (see pic below)

in between them are net-like rope platforms and ladders as well as more 'spires' which are the trees propped upright on the columns. solid stone is the only safe 'ground' material to build nests on.

@gardenergulfie many of the monsters were bound by additional magical rules on top of the "you are twisted into a monstrous form" main thing. i hadn't thought of many tbh but i believe sphinxes were more strictly bound by their riddle names rather than just doing it playfully by choice, i know there was more but it escapes me. i'll have to think of some!

wyrms are cursed with immortality in a very classical sense so it would be impossible for Revelation not to be around in Cuinn's time. but ah... i wouldn't say it's in a good state

wildfire unfortunately is no longer with us. in mind & spirit anyway.

For eagle harpies, baby-rearing is not communal. The parents swap brooding/hunting roles (one broods/warms the young, the other hunts, they barely get time to sleep). Once baby is old enough to fly it hops out and joins the other fledglings in their eyrie. Parents rarely have anything to do with them after that but they will occasionally stop by to deliver discipline if they feel their offspring isn't behaving properly.

Partnerships are monogamous (but if the king wants your girl then that's his girl for the night) and last as long as any relationships might; could be many years, could barely last a season. there's a stigma against breaking up while tending a nest so some harpies with relationship problems tough it out for the sake of the kids (this never works)

The king does not care about his offspring as people, only as tokens of his virility and strength. Kings often boast of how many offspring they have (and the All-King can have hundreds) but do they know all (or even any of) their kids' names? of course not

Regular cobs do most of the fathering because most flocks don't have a king and they have to reproduce somehow. There's no visible difference between the offspring of a king vs the offspring of a cob. eggs is eggs

Eagle harpy pens can lay up to 4 eggs in one nesting season. Sibling aggression is common in the early days and if unsupervised they can kill one another but that's seen as a sign of lazy and inattentive parenting UNLESS the baby being picked on was kinda runty and then it's their own fault for being a whimp and they should toughen up. Parents can lay unfertilised eggs but rarely do, it's similar to a false pregnancy. Unfertilised eggs are eaten. Harpies of different species base cannot interbreed, but bear in mind that harpy species diversity is overall much lower than birds.

Eagle harpies are VERY protective of their eggs. It's not unheard of for other harpies of the same eyrie to steal their neighbours' eggs for various reasons (you can gain favour if you have one of the king's offspring in your nest....). many predators also might want to take some as well (sphinxes are... very ferocious predators of harpies, but also you gotta watch out for that little human who might have ambitions of being a falconer). parents will guard their eggs viciously.

I don't think it's unreasonable to imagine such a scam tbh... yeah sure take this egg it'll tooootally hatch into a big strong harpy. human falconers probably candle their eggs frequently to monitor them so i think they would catch on very quickly though hehe

[grunkle-no-more-colombian-nights]

No More Colombian Nights - Hunting

 

Ford sat quietly in his private study, tinkering with the machine he hoped would bring his brother back to some form of sanity. Since Weirdmageddon he had been working on altering his Project Mentem machine to allow a person to experience the mindscape, instead of just reading and encrypting the thoughts through the monitor. He had made the calculations while on their last expedition, hoping when they got back he could repair the monitor and make the changes. It felt paramount to get done sooner than later now, though, seeing his brother seeming nearly as altered as Ford had been over Bill. It was disconcerting to see the way Stanley broke down over the well-being of that creature. He was clearly manipulated.

 

Stanley’s memories would hopefully be easier to sort through and reconnect if he could walk through them to some degree. He didn’t relish the thought of living through much of any of his brother’s mind, nor was he sure Stanley would be very accepting either, as it would end up being a very invasive process. He would have to be willing to open up more than he ever had to Ford. In some space in the back of his mind, he also found himself concerned the guilt of seeing his brother struggle would be just as hard a process for himself too.

 

Ford tinkered with some of the wiring inside the monitor, twisting some ends together as he thought back on the day. After his breakfast with Fiddleford they had made their way back to the shack and down to the lab they hadn’t really occupied together much for nearly thirty years. Ford was nearly choked, holding his own breath as they rode the elevator together down to such a significant place as if things had never been different. For someone who had figured out how to conquer his own physical fear response, this was something entirely different. Fidds made him nervous in a way he didn’t know how to calm, his heart nearly pounding out of his chest as they entered the torn-apart lab. After the last summer, he hadn’t had much time to fix it up, and this summer he had planned to get it back to a semi-working order before their next winter expedition. He still found himself a little embarrassed by the completely wrecked state of the space.

 

Fiddleford had spent a silent moment walking around, taking in the surroundings of the twisted metal, dust, scattered notes, and books. In his more sane state, he seemed much more contemplative than the last time he had been there, his memories not as torn apart as they had been last summer. In Fiddleford’s sad eyes, he felt the dripping, sickly guilt he had been carrying for so long in his stomach. Ford’s breakfast threatened to make a reappearance as he prepared for Fidd’s to leave, the memories nearly overwhelming and upsetting enough for him. But to his surprise, his old partner just smiled warmly at him, patting him on the shoulder before starting to quietly whistle to himself and gather papers off the floor without much of a thought. Somehow that made the guilt a little worse, so he went about tidying as well, letting the quiet sink in as they moved around the space.

 

Once things felt a little less hectic in the lab, Fidd’s had gone over the calculations Honey had previously gone over, confirming her corrections much to Ford’s chagrin. His frustrations with her must have painted his emotions on his face, as Fiddleford looked ready to ask him questions before thinking differently of it and moving on from the subject. Ford decided better of it too, deciding to try to not focus too much yet on that specific subject. He was beginning to worry he would have to deprogram the whole town at this rate.

 

After some time in the lab, Ford brought him to his private study to discuss the possibility of repairing the machine. Fidds was a mechanical genius, easily being able to give him a theoretical idea on how to accomplish his idea, spending some hands-on time inside the machine himself as he went over the damage. Ford got a small shiver as he thought back to both of them in the small space, pressed together as they inspected the wiring inside that Dipper had fried with the memory-erasing gun the summer before.

 

Fidds had always had a slender build, his slight frame brushing against him repeatedly as they pulled and plucked at the melted plastic and metal, his mechanical ramblings getting Ford excited. Fidds mind resonated with him in a way that always gave him an odd giddy feeling, like they were on the same wavelength.

It was comforting and familiar, making his chest ache as he sat alone now in the crowded basement room. He missed the days Fidds and he would work until they often fell asleep together in the single bed that occupied the bunker they worked in.

 

They never talked about it, allowing the connection to exist without examination. And, although the memories often revisited him without conscious effort, he thought back to the few nights Fidds and he allowed the heat to burn them together, missing the way their bodies reacted together. Ford shook his head, taking a deep breath to try and calm himself, getting worked up a bit as he stripped another wire, connecting it back in before withdrawing himself from the housing of the broken monitor. Wiping his brow with the back of his arm, he set the wire cutters off to the side, taking a seat nearby as he wondered if he should check on his concussed brother.

 

He sighed, burdened that the events of the night might have set him back on that front in spite of the nice morning and afternoon they had spent together. Tate had yelled at Ford after he had knocked Stanley out. He was angry his father was involved once again with Ford’s dangerous lot and that Stanley was clearly no better. He scoffed at that idea. He really felt he had everything under control until Tate came out swinging like a redneck fool. The result had been the same regardless. Tate ushered his father back to his house, leaving Ford to gather his crumpled brother into the car and get out of there.

 

Stanley had really been in no shape to go anywhere, and knowing how hard he was hit, Ford figured he would probably find him upstairs swigging some liquor and sulking in his room about his ruined date. He pressed his fingers into his eyes under his glasses, trying to soothe the dryness that started to set in as the hours ticked later and later. He really couldn’t afford to take a break, but a nagging feeling made him travel back upstairs. Something about the shack was too quiet, his curiosity pulling him room to room. After a thorough check of the house, it became clear Stanley and the kids were not here.

 

“Shit.” He sighed under his breath, peeking outside to see the car missing. He knew where Stanley was probably headed, but where had the kids snuck off to? He needed to check the cameras, troubled instantly by their absence as he made his way back down to the lab. They shouldn’t really be out this late, especially with all the dangerous things running around here. He worried if Honey had regained herself, she would probably be stalking the shack soon enough, looking to revenge herself from his interference with her hunt.

 

Once the elevator hit the ground floor of his lab, he rushed to the monitor, pulling up all the feeds from the house and pushing them back an hour. Nothing. Backing up another hour, he saw it: his brother piling his old car with what looked to be covert equipment and weapons before seeing his young niece and nephew sneaking into the back seat. Stanley noticed nothing, of course, and drove off with them, most likely putting them into a dangerous situation. And now they all had a couple of hours head start to whatever trouble was waiting back at the lake.

 

Ford cursed, having been too wrapped up in his own work to have noticed. He should have been tipped off when he didn’t hear Stanley’s clumsy, heavy-footed stomping upstairs or the kids being wild and running around the house. He quickly scrubbed through the rest of the night's footage, confirming their absence from the house since then. Of course Stanley chose tonight to destroy the one thing that seemed to incapacitate the creature he was worried about. He would need something noise-canceling, probably a net and some other things if he was going to keep his family safe for a second time tonight.

 

He jumped up, moving to one of his gear stashes, pulling out various tools he thought may come in handy, deciding tonight was where it ended.

 

“Soos! I need your help again!” He yelled as he made his way upstairs, juggling the things he had decided to bring. It was late, but he found Soos up often at random hours.

 

If he came across the creature, he would capture it and break the spell she clearly held once and for all. He wouldn’t lose his brother again.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Stanley pulled up to the lake for the second time that night, Wendy sitting passenger, tapping her booted foot anxiously.

 

“So explain this to me again, dude. My cousin is an ancient shape-shifter who is being hunted?” Wendy sounded thoroughly confused, still trying to piece together things he had only recently pieced together himself.

 

“Uh, yeah. Somethin’ like that. I’m sure she’ll fill you in on the important details once we find her.” He said gruffly, stepping out of his car as his eyes scanned the area. There was nothing out of the ordinary he could see, not even the bodies of the agents Honey had shredded earlier. It was eerie and too quiet. He made his way towards the boat, Wendy following closely behind, clearly nervous. The blood on the ground nearby was the only indication anything was amiss.

 

“Whoa, dude. That’s screwed up. What happened here?” She shuddered, creeped out by the visceral sight.

 

“We were attacked by agents, and your cousin protected us, but she got hurt in the process.” He mumbled, kneeling to inspect the trail of blood that eventually disappeared. The air smelled coppery against the musty backdrop of the lake.

 

“That’s not…?” Wendy started, her hand coming to her face before Stan cut her off.

 

“No, it’s not hers.” He quietly said, trying to make sure she didn’t panic.

 

“How did you lose track of her anyway? You just left her out here?” Wendy asked, her arms crossed as the silence and stillness of the lake gave no clues to where she had gone.

 

“I wasn’t a fan of Tate trying to ‘help’ after she got hurt. Fucking kid, took a cheap shot at me. I wasn’t conscious when Ford dragged me back to the shack.” He admitted, rubbing the spot on his head where Tate’s gun had cracked into his head.

 

“Well, we should check the boat and her cabin first, and then if she’s not there, maybe we check in with Tate? His truck is there.” Wendy offered.

 

“Good plan. Let’s split up; you go check the house. Take this and beat up anyone that’s not supposed to be there.” Stan moved back to grab things out of the back of his car, yelping and landing on his tailbone when he saw something fuzzy behind his seat. Wendy ran up, just as startled initially before snorting loudly as she saw what had scared Stan.

 

“You little dudes are rebels, but you probably shouldn’t be here.” Wendy chastised gently as Stan groaned, rubbing the brand-new sore spot as he got ready to yank the kids out of the car. Dipper and Mable crawled out and up onto the seat, trying to dissuade Stan’s rising anger.

 

“We’re here to help!” Mable proclaimed proudly, standing on the seat with her hands on her hips.

 

“I just wanted to make sure you didn’t get eaten.” Dipper stated flatly, clearly trying to imitate his other Grunkle in demeanor.

 

“I don’t know if I should be proud of you two or ground you for the next week.” He put his fingers to his eyes under his glasses, already beyond frustrated with the night. It had been one bad turn after another, and the kids being here was not his idea of helpful in this moment. He went to grab the bat that he had stashed back there, presumably before the kids had hidden, handing it back to Wendy.

 

“Now you’re also on babysitting duty. Congrats. Like I said, beat up anyone or anything that’s not supposed to be there.” Wendy rolled her eyes at him, taking the bat in her hand and hoisting it up onto her shoulder. The kids looked mildly deflated, looking ready to protest, but his frown seemed to be enough to keep them quiet for the moment. He really should make them stay in the car, but he decided a few extra eyes wouldn’t hurt. “If you don’t find anything, meet me back here.”

 

“Right, and if we do find her?” Wendy asked carefully.

 

“Still meet me back here; the location doesn’t change.” He grumbled back at the mildly snarky teenager. “You two, don’t go out of Wendy’s sight. And listen to me this time.” Mable and Dipper both looked ready to retaliate, but his face must have told them to stay quiet for now, huffing once they went with Wendy towards Honey’s cabin. Stan took a deep breath, mounting his way to the deck of the boat, still covered in the remnants of the date they had been on earlier in the night. Candles had burnt out, and the lights had turned off, leaving it blanketed in blue moonlight.

 

Stan nearly jumped out of his skin as a couple of raccoons hissed and scampered off of the table that still sat with the remains of dinner, running past him and back to dry land as he walked on deck. His heart dropped as soon as he spotted the silvery length of her pelt laid over the folding chair she had been sitting in. He moved to grab it, immediately cradling the heft of it in his arms, unsure what else to do. It was clear she hadn’t been back on deck since he’d carried her off. Throwing the pelt over his shoulder, he moved to check inside the cabin of the boat just for peace of mind, but she was nowhere to be found.

 

“Hey, Stan. We didn’t find anything.” It was Wendy off the side of the boat, kids in tow, calling out to him. He leaned over the side, shushing her.

 

“You tryin’ to wake up the whole lake, kid?” Wendy rolled her eyes at him, waiting to continue their conversation when he came down to meet them on the beach, holding the fur tight to him like a security blanket.

 

“So this is…like her skin? I thought she just had weird taste in accessories..." Wendy said, grimacing as she lightly brushed the coarse, short fur with her fingers before retracting her hand. Mable and Dipper looked horribly enthused and confused all at the same time. He knew he would be fielding questions forever.

 

“So she’s like a mermaid? Like Mermando?” Mable gasped, her eyes nearly sparkling at the revelation. Dipper looked shocked as well, his own stammering questions falling from his mouth.

 

“Wait, so that’s why all this weird stuff has been happening?”

 

“Did she drown that guy earlier this summer too?” Wendy finished the cacophony of questions off. Stan took a deep breath, trying to decide the next move. “Maybe we check in with Tate? It sounds like he was the last one to see her.” She suggested in the quiet moment that followed their fascination.

 

“Yeah. I don’t think he’s gonna want us walkin’ up to his place asking around for her, though.” He said, rolling his eyes as he thought about the altercation earlier.

 

“We could always…just go take a look around ourselves?” Wendy shrugged.

 

“Hmm, I like how you’re thinkin’, kid.” He moved to his car, digging through the back until he pulled out a duffle bag labeled E&B.

 

“What does E and B stand for, Grunkle Stan?” Dipper asked, watching curiously as Wendy and him came up with a plan.

 

“Exactly what we’re planning to do, entering and breaking. Mable, I have a very important job for you. You’re the only one I trust to do this.” Mable’s eyes were nearly popping out of her head; she was so excited.

 

“You need me to sneak through a window and through the venting? Or you want me to use my grappling hook to take him out from the rafters?” Stan chuckled softly at her enthusiasm but shook his head as he gathered the heavy pelt from his shoulder and handed it off to her, watching as she struggled to gather all of it in her small grasp.

 

“You two stay out here, lock the car, and you hold onto this. It’s very important.” Dipper was not amused with this and protested immediately.

 

“I’ve been on way more dangerous missions than this with Great Uncle Ford. I don’t get you, Stan. One minute you want to toughen me up, and the next you won’t let me help when things get serious! I’m not a little kid!” Stan sighed, moving to kneel in front of his young nephew before groaning loudly and giving up on getting down on his level. Between the running around with Honey and getting whacked in the head, everything screamed a little bit in his body, and he didn’t trust he’d get back up from the ground if he did.

 

“Look, kid, I just need you to trust me. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but the job I gave you is extremely important.” Dipper snorted, clearly not buying it.

 

“You want me to hold on to that creature's skin? It’s a killer, and you’re protecting it!”

 

“Dipper, this isn’t the time. We can talk about all of it after we’ve found her.” Stan turned them both to the car, making them both get in before Dipper could argue any further. Gesturing to Wendy, they both made their way towards the back of Tate’s small cabin, looking for a good window to jimmy open or a door to pick. Wendy quickly gestured to a window open towards the back, slipping under it with ease before holding it open for Stan, who grumbled as he hoisted himself up and into what looked to be Tate’s bathroom. He grunted and huffed, struggling to get up into the window. The house was extremely quiet aside from the sound of a TV on somewhere in the house.

 

Wendy tiptoed to the door, peeking out before giving an all-clear signal. Stan followed her suit, figuring she would be quicker if they needed to dip out of sight. Especially considering he could barely see in the dark corridor hallway they had entered into. He took a deep breath, not really sure what he would be looking for. A creeping concern he found himself thinking on was his memories tying to find all the hidden areas Ford had around their own home. He had lived there for nearly thirty years and still hadn’t found all of them. Hell, if Ford hadn’t shown him the lab, he probably wouldn’t have known where to find that either. Dipper had similar stories about the Northwest mansion being similarly secretive. At this point he expected all the houses around here to have secret rooms that she could be stashed away in. Gravity Falls really was just an odd place.

 

The sound of the TV grew closer as they crept through the house, finding the kitchen at the end of the hallway. Wendy went a little further down while Stan peeked at the counter. A very large pile of finished sudoku books sat on one end near a solved cubix cube and some mail. He frowned, grabbing the cube and shuffling all the colors around before grabbing the top sudoku book, putting the number 7 in random spots across the half-done page, and tossing all the mail in the trash can. Satisfied with himself, he turned to see where Wendy had stopped in her tracks.

 

“Wha’d’ya got, kid?” He whispered as he approached her, curious what had captured her attention so aptly.

 

“Dude.” She whispered back, referencing a folder she had opened. Stan stood, scanning the pages behind her, his anger and concern rising as he looked at the pages Wendy flipped through. In her hands she held a log of information on Honey. Her swimming schedule and Tate’s thoughts, a few blurry dark pictures of what looked to be her diving early in the morning, and most damning, an agent's business card for the men in black. It was too much, like he had studied her for a period of time. Maybe he misjudged Tate, not sure what to make of the information that was in front of him. Maybe his intentions were more nefarious by trying to get closer to her.

 

“What are you two doing in here!?” An angry drawl came from another room, making them almost drop the folder as Wendy and Stan turned to face a very red-faced Tate and a very spooked-looking Fiddleford. “Dad, go into the living room. I’ll be right back.” Fiddleford, who had a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, did look mildly shaken from the night's events, clearly not handling the visceral image of Honey ripping men apart well. Tate moved to usher him back a few feet before coming back to address them both. Wendy was the first to speak, indignant as she flapped the folder around.

 

“What the hell is this, Tate? This is weird! Why do you have all this information on her?” She asked, upset by this examination of her. It reminded Stan of his brother’s journal entries, detailed and informative about her observed existence.

 

“Not that it is any of your business, but they were initially study papers. I had been gettin’ put to sleep every night and had to figure out why.” Tate sputtered, clearly frustrated he had to explain himself in his own home when they were the ones who had broken in. “I don’t sleep well, and when I started to, I knew somethin’ new had invaded Gravity Falls. What I don’t understand is how you Pines get your hands into everything and manage to make a mess!”

 

“Oh, please. The Pines family has only brought wonderment to Gravity Falls!” Stan scoffed, not taking any guff about his family’s actions around town. “The Mystery Shack is a town jewel!”

 

“Oh? Then why did the town nearly get destroyed last summer? Why is that sweet woman hanging on to a con man like you? Why has my dad’s mind been so hard to put back together for thirty years? It all goes back to you two. You mess with people's lives.” Tate looked deadly serious as he spoke.

 

“Honestly, this is the most I’ve ever heard you speak. Look, whatever happened between my brother and your dad, they seem to have put behind them. You’re gonna have to deal with that, 'cause it seems they’re on their way to fixin’ that bridge.” Stan rolled his eyes, not sure how to feel about having his nerd brother and the old coot hanging around together all the time. “And how could that sweet woman not like me! Look at me!” He said, flexing, deciding that was really the only reason he felt he needed to convey.

 

“Wait, so she’s not here?” Wendy said, setting the folder back on the table.

 

“No! Of course not. I had to get my dad taken care of before he had another nervous breakdown. I took him inside, and when I came back, she had disappeared. I figured she had gone home to nurse her blown-out eardrums. You know she has extremely sensitive hearing organs, right? Your brother may have permanently injured her, and now she can’t be found.”

 

“Oh, please, like you care about her well-being! You have agent info in here. You’re gonna turn her over to the feds!” Stan was yelling, Tate’s words stabbing at him like a knife.

 

“Wait, Ford did what?!” Wendy whipped her head towards Stan.

 

“We’ll talk about it soon.” Stan tried to delay her anger, but it had already been flared.

 

“You said she was attacked by agents.” She said indignantly.

 

“I said she got hurt while things were happenin’. Not how it happened.” He huffed, throwing up his hands. Did the semantics of who and how and why really matter? She needed to be found and helped.

 

“See? You aren’t even honest with her family! How does anyone trust you? When they do, you get them hurt. I wasn’t plannin’ in turnin’ her in. I was hopin’ to take her on a date before you two rolled into town and threw everyone right back into trouble again! I had that information to try and protect her! I’ve been working on throwing them off the trail for a couple of months. You’ve managed to undo that work, and I worry your brother threatens to undo all the work my father has done to heal his mind. Stay away from me and tell Ford to stay away from my dad. Get out of my house.”

 

“Hey, she is perfectly safe with me! Your daddy issues have nothin’ to do with me, kid. Now where’s the front door? I’m not climbin’ back through that window.” He crossed his arms, fuming as Tate led them down another hall to the front door, where he promptly slammed the door on them as soon as they were on the porch.

 

“Well, that wasn’t very useful. What did Ford do?” Wendy asked, taking a few steps off the porch towards the car.

 

“To Fiddleford or to Honey?” Stan asked, frustrated with still having no leads as to where she was. He followed a few steps before seeing movement near the car. Panic met his mind, immediately running to see who or what was near the kids.

 

“Grunkle Stan! We found something!” Mable scrambled around the car, easing the tension he had felt when he thought an agent was sniffing around his car.

 

“I told you guys to stay in the car.” He grumbled, going to Dipper, who held a small American flag pin.

 

“We found this, over there.” Dipper pointed in the direction of the boat, near where he last remembered Honey being curled up before he lost consciousness.

 

“What is it?” He grabbed it, rolling it in his hand before looking at it closer.

 

“I only know one person who wears a pin like that on a regular basis.” Mable said, grimacing before getting a little shudder. “I think Lil’ Gideon took her.” Her face darkened, knowing they had spent a better part of the summer before fighting with him.

 

“Why would he do that, though? I thought he was trying to be a regular kid now.” Dipper interjected, his eyes meeting Mable’s with concern.

 

“I’m mean; how regular could he have gotten after a few months?” Wendy pondered, throwing up a half shrug.

 

“Oh, I shoulda taken that kid out last summer.” Stan nearly yelled. Headlights on the road drew all their attention, getting ready to pile back into the car. More agents were bound to show up once the others didn’t check in, and it was getting close to being a few hours since Honey had dispatched them. Where did those bodies go, anyway? The familiar brown truck should have been a relief, but Ford was sure to be a problem now that he was on the scene. Stan braced himself for the argument to come.

[lillaydee]

One More Try

Landlord Joel Miller / Reader

They say a woman is tested when her man has nothing. But a man is tested when he has everything. What happens if you both passed the test, but your partners did not?

WARNINGS:

Unplanned Pregnancy, Soft Joel (The Last of Us), SO MUCH FLUFF, Joel Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Alternate Universe - No Cordyceps Outbreak (The Last of Us), Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Joel is Bad at Feelings (The Last of Us), Hurt Joel (The Last of Us), Reader was pregnant before meeting Joel, Slow Burn, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Mentions of Miscarriage (Not OC), Landlord Joel, No Outbreak AU

SERIES MASTERLIST

---

You kicked the door closed, your hands letting go of the two large suitcases you had been wheeling up the five flights of stairs. You were soaked to the bones from the rain, your sneakered feet sore and squelchy from your very long walk. You took all your clothes off, glad for the warmth radiating from the heater in the small study room you had rented for your doctorate. You opened one of the suitcases, found that some of the clothing was not completely soaked and pulled on some dry ones. Small victories, you thought. You scanned the room, mentally calculating for spaces to hang your wet clothes, hoping some clothes will be dry enough for you to wear the next day.

After some strategic thinking and making do with what you had in the cramped space, you managed to get all the wet clothes hung one way or another. You sat on the single sofa at the corner of the room, feet propped up on the small coffee table the last candidate had kindly left you, wrapped the crocheted blanket around your body, and fell asleep.

A small shake woke you. Your supervisor Professor Frank Anthony’s worried face appeared in front of you. Relieve floods it when you responded. He gave you a bottle of water, and two pills. You are burning up, he says. What the hell happened? You cannot think. You just felt like shit that’s been dumped onto the highway and driven over again and again. When you didn’t answer, Frank searched for his phone, and called someone. You fell back asleep.

When you opened your eyes again, your fellow candidate and best friend Maria was in the room with Frank. Both looking at you like you might spontaneously combust. You felt better than you did, but you knew without a doubt that you still had a temperature. How could you not? You walked almost 10 miles in the rain, dragging two full suitcases behind you, needing the walk to clear your head. What happened? Frank asked again. An overwhelming feeling of helplessness overpowered you, and you broke down.

---

Maria was packing your stuff. You were going back home with her, she said. No, she will not take no for answer. But you couldn’t do that, she lived with her boyfriend in a studio apartment. Frank offered you a room at his house while you looked for a place, but you said you didn’t want to intrude. You were perfectly fine right there. You will finish this doctorate if it’s the last thing you did. You just needed to find a job, and a place to live. You’ll be fine.

You cried in Maria’s lap for hours that day. Frank came up to tell you he had started the process for you to be his research assistant, just so you can start over while you look for other jobs. You only had your dissertation to complete, he said. You could do this. Maria’s phone rang, and after a few minutes of talking, she came back with good news. Her boyfriend’s brother owned a building of short-term rental apartments just outside the university compounds, she said, and one was available for you if you moved in today. The rent was cheap, and it’s close to the university, which was perfect seeing as you no longer had a car.

You were desperate. You had a headache; you wanted to throw up, everything that had happened since yesterday evening was just bubbling up in your chest threatening to come out of your mouth. But this would mean one thing less for you to think about. You quickly agreed.

When Maria drove up to the apartment building, the two of you were greeted by her boyfriend Tommy. He hugged you tight, telling you how sorry he was, and that they will help you get through this. He helped you with your suitcases into the building, up the stairs to the first floor, and into the first door on the right. Apartment 1A. The door was wide open, a man inside with a basket of cleaning supplies and a mop bucket, finishing up on mopping the linoleum floor.

It’s a room. A bathroom immediately across from the door, next to the small built in double door closet, an open floor plan living/sleeping area that housed a queen-sized bed, a love seat and a coffee table, and an eat-in kitchen separated by a collapsible door. It’s a hell of a difference from the posh condo you were just living in yesterday, but at least you will have a roof over your head.

Maria helped you unpack while the other man continued doing some last-minute cleaning. Tommy had gone to get some food for the three of you. Silence and depression must have oozed from you, enough to make Maria stop unpacking and sit with you on the love seat, her hand holding yours. The two of you just sat there quietly, eyes on each other, Maria silently telling you she will be here for you no matter what.

The man broke the surprisingly comfortable silence. He told you the only window in the room was stuck, but he will be back the next day to fix it. Also, the laundry room was downstairs, just to the left of the mailboxes, and if you needed anything, he lived right below you, just knock on his door or call him, and he will help you out in any way he could. Maria looked at him disbelievingly, as if she couldn’t believe her ears.

You thank him, asking for his name. He gave you his card.

“Joel, Joel Miller.”

And he quickly left the room, avoiding Maria’s judgmental eyes. Miller, oh, this is Tommy’s brother, you think.

When Tommy returned, the three of you ate silently, the two of them not knowing what to say to you. Tommy was quietly seething, unable to believe the man you dedicated the last ten years of your life to would do this to you. Before he left, he told you to call him or Maria, or even Joel if you needed anything. But you remember, you no longer had a phone. He even took that away from you.

When Maria took you to get a new phone, your credit card was declined. Your account had been frozen. The clinic you went to for your fever told you your health insurance had been cancelled. You had to use the cash you had to pay for a new phone and decided that buying Tylenol was cheaper than getting checked up.

He had worked fast. You had not even been out of the house for 24 hours and he had taken every comfort you had away from you. You went to sleep that night with your pillows wet from your tears. Ten years. And he just pulled the rug out from under you.

---

You met Max when you were at the teacher’s training college. He was a barista at the café you frequented, his good looks and charm quickly capturing your attention. You were inseparable since then, and when you graduated, he moved with you to the small town you were teaching at. Work was scarce for him, so when he told you he wanted to go back to school and earn his degree in business management, you fully supported it. He went to school during the day, and bartended at night, while you took a waitressing job at the same place he worked at after school ended, and a bookstore during the weekends to make ends meet.

When he graduated, with well-paying jobs still being scarce in a small town, he persuaded you to move to a bigger city, where job prospects for him would be better. You moved to the city with him, where he quickly got a job at a small marketing company, his pay was not much and both of you had to take other jobs to make ends meet. You were still teaching at a school just on the edge of the city, doing your master’s degree part time. He fully supported your decision to further yourself, knowing that you have bigger dreams to teach at a university one day. You lived in a small one-bedroomed apartment, not much, but just enough for the two of you. Your life was going well, despite money being tight.

When the company he worked for went out of business, he told you that a couple of his coworkers were getting some money together to start their own company, some of the clients from their old job had already agreed to be their first clients. It was all a go, except he needed help with some seed money, he’s about ten thousand dollars short.

Your late mother had been a frugal woman, being a single mother had made her very careful with money, a trait she had passed down to you, along with her savings when she passed. You have the money, but it would wipe out your savings. Your conscience was telling you no, do not give him the money. Be careful! But you were in love. And he really was all you had left, so you gave it to him. Max was grateful, he worked hard, money was tight that first year, but things were looking up. His earnings increased, you both could afford to let go of your other jobs, and you managed to graduate with a master’s degree on time, with no loans to your name.

As time went by, his company started doing very well indeed. You expressed your desire to pursue your doctorate, and he was more than supportive. He suggested you become a full-time student, after all, you did support him when he needed you, so why not quit your job? He could easily support both of you. His income was now more than ten times yours anyway, you have access to the joint account, might as well go full on. Let him take care of you, please? So, you did. You enrolled at a university a little over ten miles from your new shiny luxurious condo and became a full time PhD candidate.

Max, being so busy with his company flourishing, was seldom home. He bought you nice things, took you on vacations, all in the name of thanking you for being there for him when he had nothing. But being raised in a humble home, you weren’t looking for luxuries, only his time and attention, which he promised you will have once things settle down a bit. Being home alone in a big condo that had a foyer bigger than your entire first apartment together was unnerving, so you rented a study room at the university, a small room where you could do your work comfortably, without distractions whenever Max told you he would be late coming home.

And that was where Frank found you this morning.

You had arrived home the night before to your two suitcases outside your door, Max and his smirking secretary Esther demanding you hand over your keys, jewelry and phone. You came to this house that HE bought with two suitcases of clothes, he said. You leave with them only. Leave everything he bought for you behind. You were blindsided. You did not see this coming. Despite him being busy, his attention to you had never wavered. He was the same loving man you met all those years ago. Sexually, he had never given you doubt that he was still attracted to you. So, you asked him, why?

He said he wanted wife material. Someone to wait for him at home, not someone who was so ambitious they couldn’t stop getting degree after degree. What was the point of spending the rest of his life with someone who could only think about furthering themselves and not giving themselves fully to him? He wanted a wife, a family, and Esther was willing to give him that, he said, while she smugly caressed her lower stomach.

Oh. Oh…

He had always said marriage can wait. Babies can wait. Let’s focus on the business and your studies first. Get yourselves sorted, and then we can talk marriage and family. But clearly, he just didn’t want them with you. You reminded him through tears that you had always been there for him, that you had helped build his business from the ground up. He smirked, went inside, came back out and tossed a wad of cash at you.

Ten thousand dollars.

And shut the door.

---

Joel was folding his laundry when you came in, your laundry just bunched in your hand instead of a basket, having only moved in with your suitcases. He rushed towards you with a spare basket, and you thanked him quietly, your face still pale and your body weak. You still had a temperature, but you just wanted to get yourself sorted. You did your laundry quietly, mentally calculating the amount of money you had, silently budgeting, trying to figure out how to stretch the amount unceremoniously thrown at you as much as you can. The RA position Frank had gotten you will help, but not much. By your calculation, you had another year at the most before your dissertation was completed, so you needed to figure out how to get by until then, so you can graduate on time.

You just felt so stupid. You let him handle everything, thinking that your love was strong enough, that you were a solid couple. You let him talk you into quitting your job. Into having a joint account that you no longer contributed to since you were no longer working. You stood there, leaning against the folding table in the laundry room, watching your laundry go round and round in the machine.

Joel watched you silently. He wondered what you were thinking about. He had been where you were, albeit the situation may have been different. He remembered the first few months after Laura pulled the rug from under him, how hopeless he had felt, how stupid, how meaningless life had been. If not for Tommy and Maria, he would have drowned at the bottom of a bottle long ago. He wanted to say something to you, to let you know everything will be alright, but it was not in his nature to speak to women he hardly knew, let alone one in your situation. He was a man of action, not one of many words.

He watched you as you looked at your laundry in the machine, eyes looking but not really. He knew you were not really there. He knew how impossible it was for someone in your situation to think about other things, no matter how hard you tried. He worried for you, which was not like him. He only knew your first name, rental agreements hadn’t even been signed yet, Tommy insisting all that can be taken care of later. Joel placed all his laundry in his basket before taking another glance in your direction.

You were not there.

He walked around the table, and saw you on the floor, passed out.

Joel didn’t hesitate, picking you up and taking you to his truck. He called Tommy on the way, driving the four miles to the university emergency room – why does this place have to be so huge???? When they asked him for her insurance information, he told them he would pay for the treatment, giving them your first name, placing his credit card on the counter. He waited nervously outside while they checked you out, filling in the situation to Tommy, Maria, Frank and his husband Bill when they got there.

The doctor came outside, calling for Joel. All of them stood up, Joel stepping forward to talk to the doctor.

“Your wife is fine, Mr. Miller. She is just dehydrated and has a slight temperature. She can leave in a little bit. You can go in to see her if you want, but first, congratulations Mr. Miller, you are going to be a father.”

---

You couldn’t process it. You were pregnant. How? You were on birth control. Just your luck to still get knocked up despite your efforts to be safe. And the father of your child had just dumped you for his secretary, who was also pregnant with his child. Shit, you should get tested. Who knows where else he’d been dipping his wick. And you need to get insured. Shit. You had no insurance. How much was this going to cost? And oh God, you’re going to have a baby. How much do babies cost? How much would the check-ups be? You still hadn’t paid the deposit and first and last month for your apartment. And now this too. Shit. Why did they take you to the ER? Did they call an ambulance?

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

You couldn’t catch your breath. The machines started beeping. Shit, calm down. No, no, no, no, no… more procedures, more money down the drain. Money you didn’t have. You quickly pull the heart rate thingy off your finger. But the beeping didn’t stop. The wires on your chest. You ripped those off too. No. No unnecessary procedures. You knew what was wrong with you. But the nurses were there at the first warning of the machines, they pushed your shoulder onto the bed when you tried to get up. No. No, no, no, no, no. You saw the needle. Shit. How much would that cost you now? No. No!!!

Everything went dark.

When you opened your eyes, you were no longer in the treatment room in the ER. You were in a room, a ward, and it was dark outside. There was only one bed, there were still wires on you but none on your chest, thankfully. Just that blasted heart rate thingy pinching your forefinger. You pulled it off. Your throat felt so dry, despite the hanging IV bag that was uncomfortably connected to your hand. You needed to pee. You took a deep breath and forced yourself to sit up, your feet hanging off the bed. You stood up, one hand on the IV drip stand, took a step and immediately felt woozy.

A pair of warm hands suddenly appeared on your waist, steadying you. You turned around, your eyes meeting a pair of sleepy brown eyes that you had only seen a couple of times. His clothes crumpled, his hair tousled and his face showing evidence of uncomfortable sleep all over.

You took a step back from him, almost toppling over in the process, but he tightened his hold of you, one hand letting go of your waist and taking your arm instead. He told you not to freak out. It’s only him. His voice was rough from being awoken so suddenly, but you suddenly relaxed. Something about his voice was so calming to you, but you couldn’t put a finger on what it was.

Once you had steadied yourself, he let go of you. You went to the bathroom to relieve yourself, and when you came out, he was sitting in the chair to the left of the bed, which explained why you didn’t notice his presence. He helped you back to bed and gave you some water. You were so thirsty you drank three full glasses before you placed the glass down on the cabinet next to your bed.

“What happened? Why am I warded?”

“You had a panic attack. They had to sedate you, keep your overnight to make sure you’re alright.”

“I’m pregnant,” you said slowly, remembering what happened.

He nodded. You covered your face with your hands, tears falling so suddenly even you were surprised by its presence. Your knees came up to your chest, and you hugged them, rocking your body slightly, processing the realization. Joel got up to his feet, his hands twitching, as if he wanted to comfort you but didn’t know how. He let you cry. His eyes averted slightly, giving you some privacy, flicking back towards you every now and again to make sure you were alright. He finally settled back down when you wiped your face clean with your gown and took a deep breath.

“Why have you stayed here with me Joel?”

“They wouldn’t let Maria stay – she’s not family. And since I brought you in, they thought I was the father. Someone should stay with you, make sure you’re okay.”

Oh.

“It’s okay if you want to go, Joel. I’ll be alright. I’m not your responsibility. I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable sleeping in your own bed.”

“I’m already here,” he said with a shrug. “Are you going to tell him?”

“I don’t know.”

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a while, before he told you to lie back down and get some rest, but not before he made you drink more water. When you woke up, Joel wasn’t there. The nurses were fussing over you, taking your blood pressure, checking your temperature, before a doctor came in with more nurses and some interns, an ultrasound machine wheeled in behind her.

“Good morning, Julia, I’m Dr Servopoulos, but you can call me Tess. I’m here to do your ultrasound. Would you be okay with my interns being here to learn?” she asked, a smile on her face.

You nodded. Tess pointed at one of the interns who began to read your patient history, when Joel came back in, a paper bag in one hand, a tray with two to go cups in the other. He stopped when he saw the crowd of doctors around your bed.

“Oh, I’ll wait outside,” he began retreating.

“Is he the father? If so, he can stay,” Tess said, looking at you.

You looked at Joel, remembering what he told you last night. You nodded. You offered him your hand. He didn’t hesitate, taking it after placing the bag and cups on the chair he spent the night in. You knew this was not appropriate. You had only known him for a couple of days. But you were really scared, you didn’t want to be alone for this. You will apologize to him later, you thought. But he didn’t seem to mind, sandwiching the hand you offered him between both of his. Why did this feel so right? His hands were warm, the comfort they brought spreading throughout your body, and suddenly you didn’t feel so scared anymore.

When Tess lifted your gown up to prepare for the ultrasound, Joel averted his eyes, he moved further up to stand beside your head, his hands still clasping yours. You looked up at him, your face scrunched slightly when an intern squirted cold gel on your belly before the fart-like sound of the almost empty bottle made you snicker like a child. The young lady was persistent, determined to get every last drop of gel from the bottle, making more and more fart noises, causing you to lose control and started laughing out loud. He lost it when you snorted, letting out a full belly laugh along with you, making you forget you didn’t know this man at all. The doctors couldn’t help but laugh along. Even Tess, who must have done this a million times, was wiping tears from her eyes.

When the tiny bean of a baby appeared on the screen, you stopped laughing.

“There’s your baby Mom, Dad,” Tess said, pointing at the screen.

You felt all your problems melt away. You had a baby in your belly, this was real. You were pregnant. You felt Joel’s hand tighten around yours, and you squeezed back without thinking.

“Looks like you are about seven to eight weeks along,” Tess continued. “Let’s see if we can hear the heartbeat.”

She clicked on some buttons and maneuvered the wand around a bit and the room was suddenly filled with the whoosh whooshing sounds of your baby’s heartbeat.

Your sight suddenly went blurry. Uncontrollable tears filling them to the brim. Despite the tears, you couldn’t help smiling. You couldn’t take your eyes off the screen. You were pulled from your haze when you felt a pair of whiskered lips touch your temple. You looked up at Joel, a wide smile on his face, his teary eyes glued to the screen, just like yours were.

After you were cleaned up, Tess talked to both of you about pre-natal care, telling you your due date, and setting up the next appointment. The whole time, Joel’s hand never left yours, and you were in no hurry to let go either. His presence was welcomed. He calmed you down, although you had no idea why.

After the doctors left, the two of you settled back down, Joel finally letting your hand go. He brought tea for you, and some pastries from the café downstairs. After he helped you eat your own provided breakfast, he put the cups and plates away, before sitting back down, and began apologizing to you.

“What are you apologizing for?”

“Getting carried away,” he said, his eyes on his own feet, referring to the kiss on your temple. “Thank you for letting me share that with you. It was a special time. I know you would’ve preferred to share that with the father and not some strange man you have just met,” he said quietly.

It was then that it hit you, you didn’t even think about Max throughout all that wonderful experience. It was as if your body and soul had accepted that you would be alone in this, even if you hadn’t decided if you were going to let him know about the baby yet. You assured him it was alright and thanked him in turn for being there for you. He didn’t need to, but he did, and you had a wonderful first check-up as a result.

Maria and Frank called, wanting to come by to check up on you, but you had already been discharged, so they agreed to come visit at the apartment instead. Joel took care of the bill and took you to your new home. He made a point to keep the bill out of your reach. When he cut the engine and ran out to open your door for you, you took the bill out of the console and quickly hid it under your shirt. You needed to pay him back. For your own peace of mind. When Frank and Bill and Tommy and Maria arrived, Joel left the five of you to talk. Only then did you open the envelope. The bill was over several pages, along with a copy of the ultrasound. You took it off the clip, and studied the bill.

Your heart skipped a beat at the amount displayed. For one night? Shit. What are you going to do?

Maria took the bill, looked at it and gave it to Tommy, who glanced at it before pocketing it. But they all knew what you were thinking. Bill, ever the no nonsense lawyer that he was, looked you straight in the eyes and asked you if you were going to call Max. He told you that it would be entirely up to you, of course, but they think you should, and see how it would go from there. If he agreed to take responsibility, at least you wouldn’t be burdened by the medical costs and anything else the baby needs alone – lord knows that man could afford it. But if he didn’t, then maybe that’ll just hammer down the reality of what an asshole he really was, and you could move on from there, with their help.

In your heart, you knew you wanted to tell him. He was the love of your life for ten years. This was the baby you two made together, with love. You may not have planned this, but the love was real, at least on your part. That night, you thought about what it would have been like to find out about the baby if you two were still together. Would he have been happy? Would he have hugged you and kissed you and cried tears of joy? One part of you would like to believe so, but your mind kept flashing back to the way he dumped you. Without warning. Cold. Smug. Uncaring. He didn’t even care that you wouldn’t have any way to contact an uber or a taxi, he didn’t care that it was raining and cold. It was as if the last ten years didn’t happen. And ten thousand dollars was all he thought you were worth after all those years you helped support him. And you couldn’t get the sneering look in his eyes when he tossed the money at you, like you meant nothing to him, not even yesterday’s garbage.

But Bill was right. He should know. It was his baby, after all. And even if you were heartbroken, you didn’t have the heart to keep a baby away from its father. So, if he decided to be in the baby’s life, you would let him.

So there you were, with Bill, Frank, Tommy, Maria and Joel by your side, standing in front of his condo entrance. The guards wouldn’t let you in, their faces apologetic, but they were only doing their jobs. When he drove up, Max got out of the car aggressively, asking you what you wanted. Didn’t he make himself clear? You were no longer welcome there. Behind him, Esther got out of the car, her face clearly annoyed that you were there.

“I’m pregnant, Max.”

He froze. “What?” His eyes searched your face and body, he took a tentative step towards you. “You’re pregnant?” a small smile graced his face.

For a moment, you thought he was going to hug you.

But his smile faltered, and his eyes turned cold again. “How do I even know that’s mine? Or that you’re not lying? You spend all day on campus. How do I know you haven’t been whoring around? How do I know you’re not just saying this to trap me?”

You couldn’t believe your ears. He’s the one who left you for someone else, but he’s accusing you of sleeping around? No. You can see Tommy and Joel taking a step towards you in your periphery, but a blurry figure got in front of you first, and a resounding smack hit your face.

Esther was screaming at you, calling you a gold digger. A scorned woman. A used up old bitch. Why couldn’t you just accept that he doesn’t want you anymore? Why would you break up a family? Let it go, bitch, let it go. He’s mine now. Go and hide among your books and let us live our lives in peace. How dare you try to take him away from me? As if you could ever. Look in the mirror, slut!

At this point, Maria pulled you away, walking you to her car. Joel, Tommy and Frank followed. Bill handed a stunned Max his card, telling him to contact his office when he made up his mind. Esther was still screaming. Throwing her shoe your way, calling you every name in the book. But you didn’t even hear her at this point, Max’s accusatory words lingering in your ears.

Bill came to see you in your study room a week later, an envelope in his hands. Max had contacted his office. He enclosed a cheque with enough money to pay for your studies, health insurance and rent for a whole year, which would be enough for you to get back on your feet, under the condition that you sign a document relinquishing him of all his fatherly commitments to the baby you were carrying forever.

You didn’t even blink when you signed the document, despite Bill and Frank’s protests. Were you proud that you took his money? No. But he had hurt you so much at this point, you just wanted to be rid of him. Why worry for someone who didn’t want you anymore? Your mother raised you alone. You could do it too. You had a life to start living again, a doctorate to finish, and a baby to grow and eventually, raise.

Alone.

Part 2

[suddencolds]

.~

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

the high prices of fucking Everything is so exhausting i stg

[icewindandboringhorror]

I occasionally wish to reach out to old friends/acquaintances I haven't spoken to since high school/some other even earlier time in my life, but I have SOOO little social energy even for required tasks (like making dr phone calls or etc), I never have any leftover for extra ones, and it would be very odd to message someone I haven't spoken to in like 5 years out of the blue but then take 4 entire months to respond back lol.. My natural curiosity with nostalgia/collecting details of the past/etc. (literally if I were born a little earlier I would definitely do scrapbooking or something lol) is very strong, but, alas, not strong enough to beat out the Social Issues Demons apparently

[weepingwillow2000]

(Stole this post cause ops a terf)

Of course media representation is important, especially for children who grow up and always see their people depicted as thieves, criminals, spirits with a special bond with the devil itself, be it on TV, in movies, in cartoons, in books, etc etc. Of course it is important to give acting opportunities to aspiring Romani actors.

But media representation isn't the main purveyor of anti-Romani violence in the world. 80% of Romani people in Europe live below the poverty rate. Romani women are disproportionately impacted by the sex trade. In many places in Europe (both Eastern and Western), Romani people are still segregated in neighbourhoods and at school, our access to healthcare is poorer and our life expectancy is 15 years shorter than the European average. Every month or so, we have to hear about anti-Romani protests held by Neo-Nazis in Europe, about a Romani person killed by the police, or about pogroms carried against Romani people.

So while it is good to talk about media representation, it becomes a problem - a big problem - when it receives much more attention and engagement than actual acts of brutality against Romani people. I have seen hundreds of posts on here and on Twitter, I have seen leftist influencers talk about it on Tiktok, but where was this energy last week when a romani man was murdered in france? when romani children were stripped away from their parents in leeds? when is that energy every other day of the year when Romani people (and women in particular) have to face poverty, homelessness and segregation, are at risk of human trafficking, get discriminated against in the workplace?

While it is good to advocate for better Romani representation now and then, media representation won't fix any of these issues. You can't place that much hope into TV shows and movies. Media and culture aren't powerful enough to get rid of social/economic oppression. Quite the contrary; it is the economical and social marginalization of Romani people that leads to racism in media and culture. And at the end of the day, it feels very callous and disheartening to see so many people care more about fictional Romani people than they do actual, breathing Romani people. If you actually want to support Romani people's rights, then you should redirect all of that energy into supporting causes that actually address the root of Romani people's oppression:

reparation and acknowledgement of the Holocaust and Romani slavery,

boosting conversations about segregation,

holding the police accountable when they kill a Romani person,

abolishing the sex trade,

supporting Romani women's reproductive rights (compensation for forced sterilization + better access to abortion facilities)

supporting homeless people's and migrant people's human rights

[im-still-a-robot]

Sailor Merope!!!

[clownpassing]

um lately i have been feeling so weird because my life w jonathan is great and we have nice things and money is never an issue anymore but then like.. i don't know i still feel hollow and empty and lonely and being with him doesn't really make me as happy as it once did and we are getting into arguments a little more often and i can't help but find myself getting defensive instead of trying to calmly work things out

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

Why is pulling an all dayer harder than pulling an all nighter

[screampied]

#OOHMAMI! g. suguru

☆ sum. cuban link, diamond cross—you’re a big fan of suguru geto, the top street racer in tokyo. he doesn’t wanna win any more races, he wants to win you this time. keep at it and he might have to fuck you on the highway.

wc. 5.7k

warnings. fem! reader, street racer! geto, pwp, unprotected, suguru has a (dick) piercing / tats, semi-public, riding, brief ōral (f! receiving), you get eaten out his window lol, overstim, dirty talk, praise, size kink, impact play, petnames, drive safe.

an. chase atlantic inspired me ¯\_(ᵕ—ᴗ—)_/¯

“you, yeah you. wanna ride?”

stop thinking dirty, stop thinking dir—

you stop dead in your tracks, hearing the deafening vrooming of a certain nissan skyline gtr along with a raspy deep voice. you knew that voice, in fact you’d be a fool not to recognize the voice of the suguru geto, infamous street racer who’s won more races around the world than you could count. he’s got a big hand on the steering wheel with his dark purple helmet cracked open. growing pathetically sheepish, you could barely get any words out before you start to feel your feet gradually dragging toward his rumbling car.

“really?” you mumble, barely even pressed up against his tinted window and you could smell his loud rich cologne from there. you couldn’t help but fangirl—and oh, did he look so much better in person. geto’s got pretty long tresses of black hair that’s usually down, but in every race it’s always pinned back. a few loose strands run down his face, peeking out of his helmet and his glove grips tightly against his bedazzled steering wheel that had ‘s. geto’ carved into the material as it flawlessly spiraled around the wheel.

“reaaally,” he tauntingly repeats your word, cocking his head to get a better look at you. you could smell the thick puffed smoke that weeps out of his silvery flashy tailpipes and he hums. slouching back against his seat manspread, his foot eases off from the break and you watch as the flashy racer’s seat flies open on its on, and you step in. “i take it you’re here to see the race?”

no, no you weren’t.

you couldn’t lie to yourself—you were here to see the race, but you were to here to see geto also. you’ve only seen him during his interviews, magazines, and sometimes on tv where his races would be broadcasted for the entire world to see.

but, you managed to snag enough money to actually see him in the flesh.

without a second thought you make your way inside. on the inside, you were screaming. you were currently living every one of his fangirl’s dream. immediately once you sit down, you’re surrounded by the balmy welcoming warmth of his beloved str. you assumed it was an older model but he made it work anyway — it had cushioned seats with blaring speakers and oh, the smell . . it’s almost as if the vehicle had a signature cologne scent of its self. it’s really masculine and it makes your thighs squeeze together once you recline back a bit. his seats warmed up your backside automatically and you glance around the rest of the car, taking in its glitzy beauty.

it’s pretty, you’ve only seen pictures. ogling near his rear view mirror, you see fuzzy dice dangling as he’s adjusting it. the rest of the cars usually gathered near the meet up spot before the race actually starts.

“she’s pretty, isn’t she?” geto snickers, noticing you gawking at the inside of his car.

indeed, you heard about how geto built this entire thing from scratch. before doing street racing as a little side hustling hobby, he used to be a mechanic. a well known one, but that wasn’t as fun as actually racing.

geto tosses an arm behind the head rest of your seat, preparing to go in reverse. “had her for about two years. haven’t lose a match, since.”

“not one?” you murmur, wanting to call his bluff. sure, you’ve never seen anyone covering him losing a match but that was a bit hard to believe.

“doubtin’ me, sweetheart?” he rasps, and you feel the rough jittering of the car. geto’s backing up safely, curving his wheel briefly to drive out of one of his many garages.

sweetheart, you don’t know why but that single pet name had you feeling hot for a moment. once your eyes dart back toward him for a split second, you spot a toothpick sticking out from the corner of his crooked lips. he’s so pretty — he’s got a natural smirk that’s tugging against the corners of his lips. as he starts to drive toward the starting point for the highly anticipated race, a gloved thumb taps against his furry steering glimmering wheel. with a low hum, he glances at you. “seatbelt, silly girl.”

shit, you snap on your seat belt moments later and notice even his signature’s all over his seatbelt covers. ‘suguru geto’ in bright bold letters.

drafty air wafts against your skin as he’s still creating distance with just a few miles. once he reaches near the starting line, you hear his foot tapping against the break.

one, two, three . . three, two, one . . he’s bored.

geto positions his rear view mirror for the millionth time before noticing you zeroing your eyes at his gear shift that glistens from the dozens of rhinestones that glue against the cover. countless diamonds stick up and down the leather skin of the handle and it’s so pretty.

“hold on, sweetheart,” geto purrs, his eyes slowly locking onto the flagger that’s stood in front of the row of cars.

geto’s still got a firm hand gripped onto his wheel, his right foot just barely hovering over the gas. come on, he just wanted to get it over with. you could almost smell the competitiveness dripping from his body.

it was intense, you could almost feel the anticipation as if you were in the driver’s seat. the tall woman that’s dressed in nothing but sheer black carries a hefty checked flag, swaying it in the air every few seconds. as she safely spaces herself between the cars, she does it two more times and you realize it’s almost time for take off.

the cars that were lined up beside and next to geto start to rev their engines and so does he. it’s a roaring groan, and his rousing wheels burn into the hardened cement, his gold pipes coughing up clouds of purple smoke. geto gives his wheel one more tap with his thumb before glancing at you with a cunning grin. “lie back, i take off pretty fast, heh.”

and he wasn’t kidding.

the moment the flagger does a final up-down sway motion with the flag, all race cars accelerate quickly past the starting point. you sink back into the plushy seat as he meanly yanks back his stick shift.

his engine’s loud, and within seconds he’s already in the lead. it’s like he wasn’t even trying. frantic turbo spits through his rusted pipes and you can feel his car speedily pass through each poor vehicle that tries to get in his way.

vroooooom, he’s flying by each checkpoint and you could almost smell the adrenaline that’s coursing through his pulsating veins.

the thrill . .

you felt it all ghost through your own veins, feeling the frigid air roaming through his vents tickle against the hairs that stand up on your arms. geto makes a few sharp turns, keeping an eye on the time every so often. his personal best was around five minutes and seventy-seven seconds. with a coarse grip, he’s tilting his steering wheel while the thunder of his engine growls louder and louder within each whizzing mile.

over time though—you can’t help but be a bit nosy. your eyes shift toward the racer and god, you’re just now noticing how handsome he was.

geto usually wore sweats along with his street gear. he didn’t have to wear his helmet but he preferred it just in case. its all black with a splash of purple—you can see his signature lazily signed near the very top. outlined beside his name was a curling design of smoke. the part where he sees through was all darkly tinted so you could hardly see his face unless you squinted or he took it off.

it’s like it added more to his appeal in a way. he sat manspread and doing so, it gave you a one way ticket to stare straight down at his barely hidden bulge.

fuck, your mind started to ponder. you had so many unanswered questions. isn’t it painful driving around that hard—

“hey,” your raunchy thoughts get rudely interrupted and you don’t even realize how many minutes had passed from you being cooped up in your own lewd fantasm. geto’s driving a bit slower now, around sixty mph instead of his usual two hundred. he’s way in the lead, first place. one hand’s lazily on the steering wheel and he fakes a yawn.

oh he’s cocky.

with a quick glance out his mirror, he knew the other cars were far behind him and he now starts drifting near the freeway. with an intrigued hum, he notices just exactly what you were staring at. his lap. “don’t tell me this was the ride you thought i meant, sweetheart.”

“i—”

it’s like his cologne got louder.

you choked on your words, wondering if you were hearing right. suguru, the suguru geto was flirting with you?

and the thing that got you the most was that he wasn’t even looking at you anymore—every few seconds, you’d lock eyes against him near the ear view mirror, feeling hot once his eyes slowly rove down your figure through his dark tinted helmet.

not only was his cologne loud but so were your thoughts—shamelessly, you did think he was referring to that kind of ride minutes earlier.

and the more you stared at his hardened bulge through his grey sweats, the more you started to think. .

but, little did you know your dirty wish would be granted.

not even a few moment later, you’d find yourself fucked - literally.

geto positions you on his lap, halfway pulling down his loose sweats just so you could ride something else entirely.

instead of riding just his car — you rode his dick, and fuck was he just ridiculously big.

too big, and he knows it. geto groans once he’s buried full inside, lodging his thick cock in between your slimy gummy walls. “shit,” he’d hiss, his head occasionally tossing back once the ring piercing that’s stuck on his tip tap tap tap’s away against your precious g-spot. it swirls all around the inside of your cunt and your thighs struggled to stay open. it tickles, but you were far from laughing. he’s so big, easily rearranging your insides and be barely even had to move a muscle.

he’s ruthless - but your hips were even more ruthless though, far more.

geto knew all too well that this was dangerous—just one swerve from the swerving stimulation of bodies smacking against his and game fucking over.

you moan, burying your face into his neck as your hips continue to move against him. he’s still burning gas as your cunt’s just merrily drooling all down his length from each slapping thrust.

belatedly, your brows furrow, almost forgetting why you even showed up to this event. well, part of why you came. “f- fuck, what about t- the race?” you speak in a breathy tone, your tempo becoming more and more relentless. the salaciously enticing jerk of your unsteady hips gradually turn into rough unstable bounces and he kisses his teeth. geto feels the convulsing veins that run down his cock pulse right through him and between your walls, you feel it too.

“oh, sweetheart,” he huffs, his back of his helmet hitting against his headrest. looking at you with hazy hooded eyes, he flashes you a sleazy grin. “technically, i already won,” and you gasp, feeling him reach a gloved hand down between your rickety thighs. his touch was so gentle, you felt yourself shuddering from both twin digits that drag further down your chest. he cups one of your bouncing tits that pop out of your tank top, brushing a thumb against your sensitive nipple. “god, what a pretty fuckin’ body. look at you girl,” and he’s still got a hand on the steering wheel.

a trembling whimper dies out your throat at the feeling of his swollen fat cockhead vigorously thrusting in and out of your dribbling entrance.

you’re just so soaked. it’s like you can’t help but be sopping wet on his lap and he loves it. sloshes of sobs echo out of your pussy and your legs pathetically quaver directly on top of him.

both of you groan in complete unison and a big hand of his creeps further down, giving your ass a teasing squeeze. “fuuucck, reel those nasty hips. ride it baby, ride me, yeah,” and you hear the grumbling revs of his engine ring against your ears louder. it makes the entire car shake a bit despite him pushing down a few miles. with widened dewy eyes staring at the back of his car, you squint, seeing dozens of cars trying to catch up to geto.

they didn’t have a chance,

they looked like tiny splotching dots in the far distance. geto even had the audacity to not do his usual speed and yet he was still dusting the other racers.

typical.

“s- suguru,” you whine, the undersides of your thighs sticking against him. each time you bounced back on his cock, each ruthless ‘pap pap pap’ of your skin mashing against his and the clingy recoil never fails to leave you brain dead for a few seconds. he’s so thick. you swivel your hips around him, gasping every time his dick piercing scrapes against your clit. the cold material makes a good portion of your thighs quake and you can’t help but coo out a few sweet ‘ooh’ or ‘ah’s right next to the shell of his ear. your panties were lazily shoved to the side and he didn’t even bother taking them off.

yet.

“so fuckin’ big, shiiiit.” you’d whimper, trying to swerve your way all around him. he’s just too big, you were even surprised he fit. you had to go down slow, aligning yourself against him — every few seconds his cock would pop out of you, making that cute squelch sound that makes his suck his teeth in annoyance.

“mhm, ‘n you’re takin’ it so well. you’re a big girl, fuckin’ take it,” he rasps in a hushed tone, nipping a few teeth near the inside of your neck. his helmet along with his toothpick ends up falling near the side of his seat with a loud thud.

your hips were killer.

unlike any opponent he’s had to go up against. you’re happily squeezing around him like a vice, taking in his curved inches like a champ. “f- fuck, who taught you how ‘ta ride? heh, tryna give me a run for my money, hm pretty?”

your whiny moans only pitch louder once he grips a nice chunk of your ass with one hand, peering at his bedazzled dash. the speed was a bit over one fifty now but it didn’t even feel like it.

“ugh, ‘m gonna cum,” you gasp, growing more and more dumb the faster you bounced on his heavy throbbing cock. his peeling sack hangs from underneath and he’s so swollen, you feel it.

maddened angry balls entirely reddened and puffed up from the delicious stimulation. with every sharp pull of your hips bouncing up and down, he feels himself shriveling — he’s so sensitive inside of you, and he can almost taste his own pleasure. whilst you continue to twirl your ass around in rotation for him, you couldn’t help but shamelessly salivate at the thought of imagining just how full he might be.

“sugu—fuuuckk,” and a bead of sweat races down the side of your face. geto’s primarily focusing on the road, it’s an easy straight shot and with how it was practically the middle of the night it wasn’t that many cars except for the one’s participating in the annual street races.

“bet you are. sloppy girl,” he huffs, groaning at the echoing loud smacks of your ass. you’re mercilessly clamping down his lap over and over, preparing to gush all over the dick that’s currently nestled inside of you. he’s got such a mouth watering curve of his cock that makes your stomach twist and churn.

the kind of curve that doesn’t involve his motor vehicle, that kind.

geto’s dick knew how to do swerves on its own, it even knew how to carve an entire bumpy race track allllll through your insides with his fat pink tip. “touch yourself, pretty. gimme a show before you mess up my fuckin’ seats.”

you could hear the sass in his voice along with a drip of vex and you’d giggle if you weren’t being ruthless stuffed full of inches. “o- okay,” you breathe through clenched teeth, guiding your hands up and down your body. geto’s dark eyes stare at you intently.

he stared at the way your hands caress your pretty plump tits, feeling down the valley of your exposed chest. his eyes flicker toward you then back at the road, then at you again - he repeats it, feeling his own muscles starting to tighten through his clothing. “ngh, suguru. can’t hold—”

your addictive slams against his cock got more intense until he’s fully buried balls deep inside of your squeezing cunt. you hear the saturated plops that’s squealing out of your pussy and you can’t even believe that’s you that’s sounding like that.

your poor sweet cunt was louder than his radio, completely shrieking over some random chorus of a heavy metal song you didn’t even know was playing in the background.

“fuck, cum then. cum on me, girl,” he grunts, one hand grabbing a nice fat piece of your ass again before spanking it.

you moan, the sharp brief twinge of elation sending you a shiver that immediately sends convulses between your thighs. lewd filthy thoughts foil at your brain and pretty soon, the car steams up with steamy clouded fog.

erratic sharp breaths match each other’s pace and you’re left breathless. geto feels your legs on the verge of giving out and he snickers, bringing a gloved hand to stroke against your sopping pussy. “go on, don’t be shy. should make ya lick up the mess later anyway.”

whimpering, your release comes and fuck, a sharp scream ripples out from your throat once you’re finally coming undone on his cock. the wrinkled skin of his base continues to stick against his sack due to you bouncing against him.

it’s hot, literally.

with both plush mounds of skin harshly plummeting on top of each other, the heat of the car made it feel like the air conditioner wasn’t even on. “thaaat’s it, work those hips, goddamn,” and abruptly, he cuts off from his words after feeling his mushroom tip reach a certain spongey spot that’s buried way inside of your gripping walls.

you gasp once you feel him throb inside with a soft upward shimmy of his hips. milliseconds later, your thighs collapse down on him and you feel yourself succumbing. you’re creaming down his shaft with your slippery slick while at the very same time, struggling to catch your breath. as you weakly try to continue your grinding with your feeble knees, geto uses a single hand to quickly make a detour.

he was close.

the race car makes a swift turn to the left lane, driving a few more miles before he then turns the opposite direction — pulling over safely. with a cooing skrrrrt, his rubber tires come to a cruising stop and geto groans, gripping at his tensing bouncing thigh with his glove. the finish line was just a few feet away but he could care less.

once he puts his car in park, geto falls back into his seat with own sable dark eyes flickering back to the very depths of his skull.

you rode him good, good to the point where he doesn’t even know what to say for a hot second. blinking twice, geto smears his glossed lips together before exhaling, “phew,” and he swats another palm against your ass. black unkempt strands of hair tape against the center of forehead like glue whilst he’s finally got a good grip on your hips. “fuck, ‘m gonna cum too,” and your puffy folds continue to dribble with honeyed slick.

you’re damping his cock and the squelches you make, they were loud.

so wet and slimy. he could listen to it all day, just the sound of your sweet cunt whimpering out sweet sloshes of nothing. the overwhelming sensitivity leaves a sourly candied taste in your mouth and you whine, feeling him squeeze a hand against your right hip. with a raspy out of breath tone, he strokes a thumb underneath your quivering bottom lip. “ ‘s okay if i cum inside, pretty?”

“y- yeah, please,” you babble out in broken cries, feeling your tummy frantically heave in and out.

as he grabs your hips, steadying you—you intake a breath, remembering how many inches he was buried inside. your tummy tucks inward and you whimper, feeling him preparing to shoot pure blanks. with a size like his, geto’s cock never failed to leave its sloppy infamous mark.

you’re just marveled at how fat his tip is, it’s voluntarily french-kissing up against sweet beloved cervix that’s screaming out curses just as much as you. he’s got two hands on your veering hips, smooth fabric of his racing gloves sliding up and down your wobbly. with pouty compressed lips, you moan, bringing your hands to grab onto his shoulders. “cum, cum in me—fuck.”

geto huskily groans, tossing his head back once your hips zealously reel into him right as he gives you the final perfunctory thrust that finishes him off. immediately, he’s shooting out ribbons of hot cum that pour into you. you’re panting as he slows down, glossy eyes raking at his body. you could see a bit of his tatted sleeves peek from underneath his shirt - his tense muscles bulging.

“god, better take all of it,” he groans, pretty black lashes sticking against his droopy hooded sockets.

it spurts out slowly but surely.

globs and globs of frothy cum bubble down the swollen sides of his cock and you feel it all. it’s toasty and warm and as he’s pouring his all into you, painting your gummy walls his pristine-white color, you couldn’t help but lean in.

geto’s matching your breathy irregular pants before he feels your trembling lips crash onto his. “mmf,” he moans against your lips, tilting his head back slightly to a certain attractive degree. a hand of his reaches toward his radio, turning the middle notch all the way down just to hear the squelches of his own seed slobbering down your slick cunt.

he tastes sweet. you moan at the lingering taste of fresh cooling mint that lives on his tongue, feeling his hands tighten around your waist.

oh, he’s obsessed—

screw the race by this point, all he wanted at this moment was you.

geto’s still got such a large load that’s dumping into you raw and it even oozes down past your thighs, a few creamy droplets plopping down on his velvet seats. he grunts, both twisting tongues ferociously tangling against each other whilst your pussy’s still squeezing down on him like a vice. a glossed translucent ring forms around his base and he feels you trying to touch yourself with two curious fingers.

with a slight smack, he swats your hand away and you whine in his mouth. “heh, hands to yourself,” you pout because earlier he let you touch yourself but now, no. he teases, breaking away from the hot kiss. a stringy cobweb of saliva tears back from both lax plump lips before he playfully nibbles on your chin. geto notices how slumped out you were and a broad open hand of his crawls between your legs. “ooooh,” and he lifts you up from his swollen flaccid cock, gazing at just how much of a fill he’s pumped into you. “well look at that,” and you whimper, feeling him strum a thumb down your drooling cunt. “would be a shame if it all went to waste,” then he quirks a brow, sliding a tongue across his lips. “princess, stick your head out the window for me real quick.”

“out the wind—”

and not even seconds later, you find yourself literally being bent over, halfway hanging out of his rolled down tinted window. geto wasn’t done, at least not yet.

your sheeny glossed lips immediately part into an ‘o’ as a sweet gasp leaves your lips. with clammy hands, they grip onto the edge of his window and you whimper once he delves his long tongue inside of your cunt. your fingers gripped against the window so hard that it ends up leaving dozens of your cute fingerprints against the tinted glass.

“oh my goddd,” you babble out in elongated sweet syllables. with your pretty eyes bulging, you gasp at feeling the tip of his tongue swirl all around inside of you.

geto lowly grunts, lapping his twitching pink muscle down your runny folds back and forth. between your legs—he’s a menace, and it was no prying him off.

at all.

he doesn’t even bat an eye at the simple fact that he’s eating his own cum out of you, unapologetically savoring the bittersweet taste that lands right on his flavored tastebuds. your legs were so weak and you can feel his warm breath continuously fan against and on your sopping folds as he chuckles.

“my my, look at her. this prize’s way better than some money,” he hums, using a leather thumbed glove to swipe down your entrance. he’s slow, dragging it all the way down just to watch spurts of your slick pop onto his digit. you’re just so wet, metallic fingers of his ghost further down your clit before you whine. geto sees your cunt pulsing from the sheer thrill and he snickers, smacking a palm right against your slobbering core. “she’s fuckin’ nasty today, yeah?” and his eyes flicker toward your drooling cunt, giving it a teasing suck. “mmph, listen to her with me, gorgeous,” and one spank against your pussy turns into one, then two, then three.

growing quiet, you listen to the weeping sounds purring out of your own cunt. so loud, so shamelessly loud. you could hear it and he barely even had to touch you. you’re drenching up his seats and you couldn’t help but bite your lip, feeling your heart pound ruthlessly out your chest. his tongue knew just where to go—it’s creating a path of its own, laying flat against your clit before sucking against every tender spot. your legs were on its final hinges. you felt like they were about to snap shut. you’re staring out the window, still not seeing any cars which was good.

if anyone saw you like this, being eaten out in this kind of position, you don’t know what would happen.

geto resumes to flick his long tongue down your swollen slit, lapping up the last few droplets of his own cum that tries to dribble down the crevices of your thighs. another final swat from his mean palm sets against your clit and you let off a cute squeal, your tummy instinctively caving in. “so much back talk from a pussy this fuckin’ sloppy. oughta teach it some manners, pretty girl,” he grumbles, and your eyes blissfully roll back once you hear him starting to sluuuurp.

geto had no shame — it was decided, this was far better than any race he’s ever had.

his teeth nip near the inside corners of your thighs before he trails back to munching on your clit, burying his nose deep. “mhm,” he groans, and it only takes a few seconds before his jaw finally locks. geto reaches down, giving his cock a few solid pumps. his pretty reddened tip was angry, it still had dried spurts of cum racing from the sides and he grunts at the memory of being inside of you only just a few minutes ago. whilst his face’s shoved right between your thighs—you don’t even realize you’re trying to reach back to grab onto his hair. you’re hesitant though, and he finds it cute. departing his wet slick lips briefly, a wry grin spreads against his lips. “kinky,” the dark haired man flicks a tongue across his lips, savoring your juices that smeared against his mouth. “don’t be shy. do it,” and you moan once he teasingly whistles against your pussy, kissing against your nub. “pull my hair girl. pull.”

you give it a good yank and his head pushes forward into you—geto’s lengthy tongue dips further inside your cunt and you whimper, gnawing the inside of your stiff jaw. “fuck,” you gasp, and as his tongue gradually curls various bubbly letters inside of your pussy.

it multitasks, continuing to send your entire body a plethora of fluttering butterflies. he was so sloppy, seeping from the corners of his mouth with your slick and just your slick. his head moving side to side eagerly and every few seconds, he’s got to flick away long shaggy strands of his hair. geto’s proudly devouring you entirely whilst you’re just literally hanging out his window.

“oh, come on. harder, sweetheart. even i can do better than tha—ngh.”

with more force, you tug roughly on his pretty black strands and you heard the most sluttiest moan pour from his lips. god, he was so close that you could literally feel that infamous smug grin spread against his lips. geto brings a fat round thumb to run down your drooling cunt, giving it a ‘good job’ kiss. “atta girl. that’s my girl.”

geto ends up coaxing orgasm after orgasm out of over and over and over again.

he’s mean with his tongue, slurping everything out of you until you had no more - nothing more to coal his chin with. his favorite thing to do was to playfully bite against your clit, feeling you writhe and shiver all because of his mouth.

you end up leaving his entire chin with a pretty stream of your syrupy slick. geto’s panting, falling back after talking you through your nth orgasm, and with a peek through his rear view mirror, he spots the remaining race cars that were finally approaching the finish line.

“ah, about time,” geto rolls his eyes, sliding his lips near the corner of his chin where a bit more of your slick laid.

he acted like it was nothing, like he didn’t just have his tongue shoved inches deep inside of your cunt, stuffing his race gloved fingers in and out of you until you gushed right down his lengthy thick digits. you’re just sat on his lap, and you’re too dumb to move an inch. “heh, comfy?” he purrs, dragging his seatbelt across both stacked bodies. you fall against his chest, inhaling his signature manly scent and feel the car jolt once he puts it back in drive.

needy silence was your only reply and he tsks, resting his chin on top of your head before driving toward the finish line. it was barely even a few feet away, and waiting there was a bunch of fans that were awaiting to greet their new winner.

geto couldn’t care less though—he had you on his lap and he could already feel himself bulging again.

he found it cute how you were just clinging onto him now.

maybe you were delusional—maybe it was the fangirl in you screaming, begging for more, but your body wasn’t just begging anymore, it ached for more.

he drives you back toward the car meet up spot, helping you fix back your skirt. with wobbly legs, you step out of the flaunting vehicle with the help of his burly arms wrapped around you. “t- thank you,” you pant, trying to catch your breath, even still. geto stands up tall and he completely towers over you. you feel so small all of a sudden, watching as he puts his helmet back on.

“anything for a fan,” he coos, and he brushes a thumb against your lips. just a single gesture just as that felt so intimate. your eyes lock with his for a long moment, and just before you could say anything more, he mumbles. “oh, you probably want an autograph?”

your eyes light up and you grow sheepish, awkwardly tugging on the vip-checked lanyard that wraps around your throat. “yeah, please.”

“such manners like a good girl, cute,” and you bring out a magazine with his face plastered on it as a headline for this week’s up and coming races in tokyo. “nah,” he waves it away, and as your brow quirks, he takes out a sharpie. geto slides the cap in between his teeth before he glances at you. “pull your shirt down real quick, sweetheart,” and without a second thought, you tug down the hem of your shirt, barely exposing your chest.

geto’s eyes rove down your skin before he swiftly signs right against your left tit. the ink softly runs against your skin and you gasp, watching as he marks up the upper part of your chest. “aaaand, perfect,” he concludes, adding a ‘xo’ at the end of his signature. geto puts the cap back on and he flashes you a sly expression. “so i’ll see you at the next race?”

he starts walking away before you could even reply and you feel the weight of your shaky legs grow heavy. “y.. yeah,” and with dewy eyes, you watch as he steps in his car, playfully revving his engine at you.

the cool air sets against your skin once more as you stood there with shaky legs. the car meet slowly gets more crowded as the rest of the racers pass the finish line.

but, your brows furrow once you realize you felt a bit . . . empty between your legs.

with a soft gasp, you squint near the inside of geto’s car before he pulls off.

hanging over his rear view mirror instead of the fuzzy dice you once saw—was nothing other than your panties,

his real prize.

[gor3sigil]

Before starting T, when I socially transitionned, I was surrounded by radical feminists who saw masculinity as gross and inherently evil, something to avoid, something to make fun of, something to destroy. The other transmascs in my friend group, sometimes, told me that they didn’t knew if they really were non-binary or if they just were scared shitless of saying “I am a man”. Because they saw this as a betrayal to their younger self who had been SAd and abused.

I saw many of my masc friends and trans men around me hate themselves, not outing themselves as men because it would imply so so much, it was like opening the Pandora Box. Even when we were just together, talking about our masculinity was always coated with bits like “I know we’re the privileged ones but…”, “I don’t want to sound like I have it bad but…”, “Women obviously have it worse, but last time…” and we were talking about terrible traumas we experienced while taking all the precautions in the world in the case the walls were a crowd of people in disguise waiting to get us if we didn’t downplay the violence we faced, or like crying and being upset and being traumatized and afraid and scared and to say it out loud would make us throw up the needles we were forced to swallow every second of every day living in our skin.

Most of us weren’t on T yet, some of us were catcalled every day and harassed in the streets or in abusive relationships nobody seemed to care to help them get out of because they were “strong enough” to do it by themselves.

I was using the gender swap face app and cried for ours when I saw my father looking back at me through the screen. The idea of transforming, of shedding into a body that would deprive me of love, tenderness, and safety, was absolutely terrifying. I knew I couldn’t stay in this body any longer because it wasn’t mine, but I also knew that if I was going to look like my dad, my brother, my abusers, it would be so much worse.

5 years later and I’m almost 2 years on T, and almost 2 months post top surgery.

I ditched my previous group of friends. I was bullied out of my local trans community. But let me tell you how free I am.

I was scared that T would break my singing voice: it made it sound more alive than ever.

I was scared that T would make me less attractive: it made me find myself hot for the first time in my life.

I was scared that T would make me gain weight: it did. But the weight I put on is not the weight I used to put on by binging and eating my body until I forgot that it even existed. It’s the weight of my body belonging to me, little by little. The wolf hunger for life.

I won’t tell you the same story I see everywhere, the one that goes “I started going to the gym 8 times a week, I put on some muscles, I started a diet and now I look like an action film actor”, in fact if you took pictures of me from 5 years ago vs now I’d just have more acne, I’d have longer hair and still look like I don’t know what to do with myself when I take selfies.

But the sparkle in my eyes, my smile, tell the whole story way better than this long ass stream of words could ever.

I want to say some things that I wish someone told me before starting medically transitionning.

It’s okay to take your time. It’s your body, it’s your journey, if you don’t feel comfortable taking full doses and want to go slow, the only voice you need to listen to is your own. Do what feels right.

If you feel overwhelmed, it’s okay to take a break, it’s okay to ask for support.

Trans people are holy. Everyone is. You didn’t lose your angel wings when you came out because you want to be masculine. You are not excluded from the joy of existence, from being proud of yourself, from being sad, from being scared, from being angry. The emotions and feelings you allowed yourself to feel while processing what you experienced when you grew up as a girl and was seen as a woman are still as valid as before. Nobody can take that from you. If someone tries to, don’t let them.

It’s perfectly normal to grieve some things you were and had before you started to transition, like your high soprano voice or even your chest. Hatching is painful. You can find comfort in things that don’t feel right, so making the decision to change can be incredibly scary and weird and you deserve to be heard and supported through this. Wanting top surgery doesn’t make the surgery less intense, less terrifying, less painful to recover from. When it becomes too much you have the right to take a break and take some deep breaths before going on.

You don’t have to have a radical, 180° change for your transition to be acceptable or valid or worthy of praise. Look at how far you’ve come already. It doesn’t have to show, you’re not made to be a spectacle, you’re human and it is your journey.

Oh, and last thing, you know when some people say “Oh this trans person has to grow out of the cringy phase where you think that you can write essays about being trans or transitionning or just their experience because it’s weird” ? If you ever hear this or see this online, remember all the people whose writing you read and, even if they were not professional writers, helped you more than any theorists did ? If you want to write, do it. It won’t be a waste. It can help people. Or it won’t, and even then, if it helped you, that’s enough.

Love every of my trans siblings, take care of yourselves. You deserve the world.