#Nevertheless I stand by my thesis | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nymphomatique · 7 months ago

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simulacra

atsv!miguel x fem!reader x comic!miguel

im no geneticist so please forgive me for any incorrect science terms 😁 i have no words for this one i wrote this with my pussy. enjoy!

cw: bunch of word vomit before we get to the sex, miguelcest? two miguel’s like eachother very much, comic!miguel x fem!reader x atsv!miguel, boys kissing, reader fujoshing out, cunnilingus, ass eating (f receiving), blowjobs, ball sucking, handjob, fingering, squirting, voyeurism/cucking?? idk one watches for a bit, double penetration, anal fingering, unrealistic anal 🫡, nipple sucking (f), cum eating, honestly just vibes all around!

wc: 7.9k. im sorry.

—> so this was originally supposed to go up like several weeks ago with a note that i would be gone for school + summer classes (that i just finished!!!) but turns out i drafted it instead of queuing it like a fucking idiot 😁!!!!!! nonetheless, i’m so sorry for the wait. enjoy.

“This is ambitious, even for you Miguel.”

“The worse that could happen is there’s no other dimension, then we take our dinner after this experiment.”

“You’re paying.”

“Only if I’m wrong.”

Geneticist by day, interdimensional scienctist by night, Miguel O’Hara proceeds as one of Alchemax’s brightest employees. A ground breaking research paper with a thesis on the future of genetics and their ability to be bioengineered and spliced with those of non-mammals earned him the title of lead geneticist, nothing short of prodigal in comparison to his peers.

You and Miguel met two years ago during your internship for Alchemax, studying yourself to become a geneticist after reading Miguel’s thesis paper in your freshman year of college. Miguel is a famed alum of Nueva York University, the science department’s crowning achievement in all its years of standing. When you had heard that the genetic science department had opened internship applications for Alchemax, you had been ecstatic. Not only would you have a chance to intern at the company of your dreams, but also get the chance to meet one of your academic idols. Needless to say, when you had read the words “Congratulations! You have been accepted and offered an internship position to study within Alchemax’s genetic science and engineering department.”, to say you were excited would be an understatement.

In the two years you’ve spent interning at Alchemax, you and Miguel have developed a close relationship to say the least. It had been a divine stroke of luck perhaps when you learned that you would be working along side Miguel as a lab technician, you had felt like you died and gone to heaven. Seeing framed photos of the scientific genius in his earlier years had no comparison to seeing him in person. To be crass, he was fucking sexy. Tall, extremely tall, broad and muscular in stature, and tan all over. Brooding eyes and a seemingly permanent frown of dissatisfaction present on his round lips, it was safe to say you had developed a slight workplace crush.

Nevertheless, it seemed to be an unrequited infatuation. Miguel never seeming to want to talk to you about things beyond the study of deconstructing cells on an atomic level or changing the structure of somethings molecular composition, he seemed beyond disinterested in you. Still, you enjoyed the stolen glances and the misinterpretations of a touch or a word or a glance. It’s like a secret you have kept to yourself.

It wasn’t all distaste on Miguel’s part however, after some time with him he began to share some tidbits out his personal life, rather reluctantly however. You caught him one day in the lab after hours, you had decided to stay late to work on a test subject, a spider with more than one type of species’ cells, an epigenetic experiment of yours. You were about to leave the lab when you saw Miguel hunched over his desk in his office fidgeting with a gadget you’ve never seen before. A rather crude looking watch, various types of wiring and exposed circuits coming together to form it.

It was then he had explained to you his after hours personal project; inter-dimensional travel. To think he was ambitious was the least of your thoughts, you concluded in your head that he was downright stupid to think something like that is feasible on a level of understanding basic science and physics. But after witnessing the messy blueprints and nights of coffee and energy drinks, night after night, seeing how truly dedicated he was at just wanting to believe the idea of inter-dimensional travel, you had no choice but to indulge in him, your bubbling crush gave you no choice to object.

So nights of him alone hunched over his desk, became late nights of both of you hunched over his desk together, fidgeting with formulas and logistics of opening a window to an entirely different universe.

Sometimes you brought coffee, and sometimes he brought late night dinner (that he made in his kitchen) for the both of you. Regardless, the both of you had developed a work relationship, platonic of course, in the two years you’ve been present at Alchemax. You had even shared with him a draft of your own personal work for your final thesis before you graduate; the possibility bio engineering spider DNA with human DNA after your successful test of cross species creation of two types of spiders. To your surprise, Miguel had taken great interest in your work, even helping you with your thesis. It made it hard to not develop feelings for him under circumstances like this.

Tonight has been no different than any other. The two of you sat together in his personal office, gearing up to test a new iteration of the dimension opening watch, more sophisticated than one of the prototypes you walked in on Miguel tweaking at all those months ago.

“Did you set up the tripod?”

“Check.”

“And the-“

“Yes, Miguel,” you drawl out, “the recorder is set as well. Can we get the started now? I’m tired and hungry. I’m counting on that burger.”

Miguel’s face goes stale and you hold in a laugh. You really love how easy it is to piss him off. “Get in position so we can start.” The fluttering thought of you and Miguel setting up and getting in position for a different type of movie crosses your mind and you blush a bit. Focus! You move behind the camera set up, and press record, signaling for Miguel to start the video log.

“Miguel O’Hara. Time is 22 hundred and 27. This is watch prototype 14-B. With this experiment, I hope to be the first person on earth to discover inter-dimensional travel.”

You give a very subtle clear of your throat behind the camera and Miguel sighs and rolls his eyes. “I’m also accompanied by my lab technician.” You peek your head around the camera and wave with a smile. Unmoved, Miguel prepares to start with the experiment. A nervous glance to the camera and he twists the mechanism of the watch to the on setting. There’s a moment of silence, the room tense with anticipation, the silent clanking of gears filling the room, until its stops. There’s a short pause in hoping, anticipating something would happen but nothing. Miguel breaks the silence.

“Attempt number 34 is a conclusive failure.”

“Knew you’d be buying me dinner tonight,” you quip, walking away from the camera, ignoring to turn it off.

Miguel rolls his eyes at your comment shucking off his lab coat for the day. “Hurry up so we can catch the cafeteria before it closes.”

You’re hot on his heels, leaving the lab sauntering behind him.

“Attempt number 34 is a conclusive failure.”

“Knew you’d be buying me dinner tonight.”

Miguel was perplexed. Where are those voices coming from?

Sat in his apartment, a glass of scotch on the rocks in his hand, with soft jazz lulling in the background. After a long day of hero work, the unwinding was needed, so such a rude interruption calls for investigation.

“Lyla?” He calls out softly, and with flitting of light she appears. Soft features and blonde hair all an illusion of light.

“Yes?”

“Inspect where those voices are coming from.”

“On it,” and she’s gone once more.

A sip of scotch luls the bulging nerve beginning to head at Miguel’s temple. With a sigh, and another curt sip, he gets lost in the soft jazz, the saxophone carrying him away just for a moment. Until..

“Miguel?” Lyla rouses him from his reverie, and he’s reminded of where he is. “I’m not sure where the sound is coming from. But I am sensing waves of molecular abnormality and instability, suggesting that someone could be-“

“Dimensional travel,” Miguel cuts. “Shock. Who do you think’s behind this?”

“I’m not too sure, but I am worried. I’ll look into it further.” Lyla disappears once more within a moment.

“For shock’s sake,” a sigh and thick fingers come up to pinch his nose bridge. This is the last thing he needs. He stands from the couch and is suddenly taken aback at the intense shaking in his penthouse. “What the sh- Lyla!” he calls out, but as the shaking continues she’s nowhere to be seen. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. A bean of light shoots up from under the ground and blinds Miguel. He’s so fucked if he ends up in the hands of some villain. The floor splits from under him, swallowing him and spitting him out into a void-tunnel-like space, an amalgamation of orange, yellow, red, and pink lights. He feels like he’s everywhere and nowhere, all and nothing at once. He simply closes his eyes and braces himself for wherever this decides to drop him.

Glass breaking alerts Miguel all the way from the cafeteria.

“Did you hear that?” He stalls mid conversation. Quiet. Listening.

You’re confused. “No? How good is your hearing you think you hear things from down here?”

“Sensitive hearing,” he says, still unmoving. There’s another pause, until he starts packing up his food to go. “Stay here. I think someone is in the lab.”

Your eyebrows pull together. “You don’t know me as well as I thought. I’m investigating with you, let’s go.”

Miguel looks at you and any argument dies with the deadpan look you give him. Silently, he walks back to the lab and you’re just as silent, following behind him.

First, Miguel thinks he’s in a hospital. The white lights and broken vials he landed on making him think he fucked up some poor doctor’s office. Then, he looks around and he knows it’s not a doctor’s lab. The bunsen burners and scribbles upon a rolling chalk board riddled with math. Then, he sees the abandoned lab coat embroidered with the word ALCHEMAX. How did he end up here? That’s when he hears it. Hulking footsteps, followed by a lighter tread. Shit. Shit. Shit. He had no gear on. The footsteps were getting closer. He thinks fast, grabbing a piece of a broken beaker in his hand.

The lab door swings open and that’s when he sees the both of you. Him and the stranger in front of him look at each other. Perplexed. You’re like me. Different. It’s unspoken. There’s a pause before you emerge from behind the large man and Miguel looks at you up and down, glossing you with his eyes. Cute, he muses silently. You raise a brow at him blatantly checking you out before you speak.

“Care to explain what’s going on here, or should we call security and let them deal with you instead?” A hand rests on your hip as you pose the question. A feisty one, he can tell.

Miguel sits up and drops the glass. “I.. don’t know how I got here or how. One minute I was in my house and the next..” he shrugs and looks around.

You freeze, looking at the tall man before you both. “You don’t think.. do you?” And he freezes at the question a beat after you ask it.

“It worked.”

“So, uh,” Miguel clears his throat. “Care to clue a guy in?”

You think you’re losing your mind. You can’t believe it worked. A person, a man, from another dimension is here. In your lab. You and Miguel did this. You want to burst with excitement and vomit in fear at the same time.

Holy fuck, dimension travel is real. We did it. We fucking did it.

You introduce yourself and your lab partner to the strange and is face goes staunch.

“What did you say..?”

“This is my- my lab partner Miguel. Miguel O’Hara.”

“No shocking way.. I’m Miguel O’Hara.”

It’s your turn to go staunch next. “You’re- what?” It’s now you take a moment to look, really

look at the other Miguel. First thing you notice is he’s drastically shorter that your Miguel, sitting at five foot eleven compared to the staunch six feet and nine inches of your Miguel. Then, you look at his face. Same brown tresses but less wavy, coiffed in a messy side look instead of the slick back you’re used to seeing. Still, you can’t deny his attractiveness looking at him. Some things seem to carry on between dimensions, like the same thick eyebrows, slightly tanned skin, and soft looking lips in a pout. You trail your eyes down his strong nose to his thick shoulders, muscles visible even through a plain white tee shirt. The small of his waist and the thick of his thighs strained against his denim jeans have your mind trailing off for a moment, with very inappropriate thoughts to have about a coworker and a stranger.

Miguel, your Miguel, has barely said a word, brooding over you and his tether silently. “Yeah. And this is Alchemax, yeah? My father owns this company where I’m from, the piece a’shit. Lyla would lose her head at this.”

Miguel decides to speak finally and it scares you a bit. “Did you say Lyla? As in Lyrate Lifeform-“

“Lifeform Approximation, yeah.”

“Brother?”

“Gabriel, the pain in the ass he is.”

Miguel’s in disbelief. “No way this is- I did this.” He looks at you for a second and away, like he’s thinking, contemplating.

“Are you.. do you take it too? Rapture?” he chooses his words carefully, and you’re confused. Rapture?

“Yeah,” he nods.

You look between the two men, a bit flustered to be honest, and clear your throat, trying not to blush when they look at you. “Sorry to be that guy here gentlemen but uh- how do we get him back?”

“I think the pretty little scientist is right here, my brother. I think you know as well as I do why I can’t stay here for too long.”

He does. A dirty little secret he’s kept from not only you, but all of Nueva York, is that he’s the one and only Spider-Man. Not only does rapture need to be sated, but crime doesn’t allow for vacation time in this line of work. Left to its vices, Nueva York may very well burn itself from inside out.

“Get me the watch,” your Miguel asks you. You twiddle off to the office with broken glass and loose paper rattled all over the floor, picking up the watch in all its fried-wire glory. You grimace, before getting up to leave when you notice the camera from the video logs on the floor tucked away behind a fallen chair. You remember that you forgot to turn it off before you left for lunch. You bring it in jest, hoping maybe there’s something valuable on film. If not, you get to watch Miguel look incredibly handsome in his lab coat again, and you can’t complain about that.

It’s quiet between the pair when you return. You can’t help but look at them, thinking how ludicrous this whole situation is, truly. “I still can’t believe you guys are the same person,” you muse aloud, dropping the broken watch on the counter along with the camera. “I forgot to stop recording, might be something worthwhile on that thing.”

“Thanks. We’ll clean up and uh, head to my place. S’getting late,” your Miguel says, dropping the watch in his pocket.

In the two weeks the other Miguel has been here, you’ve learned two things: One, Miguel, the both of them, are Spider-Man. Other Miguel had let it slip, and your Miguel confirmed it to you. Following a brief moment of shell shock, your mind began to race. His stamina is probably incredible, and he’s so big and durable, I wonder what he looks like under that suit. Speaking of that suit, you’ve never not noticed the bulge but knowing it’s been Miguel under there the whole time you bite your lip. You’re so fucked. Second, you were beginning to develop a bit of a crush on the other Miguel. You delude yourself into thinking it’s an enamourment that’s returned, the flirty jokes and wandering exchanges shared between the two of you.

This was something that unbeknownst to you didn’t fly under your Miguel’s radar in the slightest. When all three of you are together, you notice the way his muscles in his face pull at the borderline vulgar double entendres his doppelgänger makes towards you. The twist of his lips, the hard swallow in his throat. Is he… jealous?

“Red or white?” you hear the other Miguel over the couch ask, and the question grounds you. You’re over at Miguel’s place, in attempts to figure out what missing code is needed to finally send Miguel’s other back to his original dimension. You had showed up on time, but Miguel had been running late with Spider-Man duties, so you and his tether found yourself plenty occupied within the wine cabinet, stocked with aged reds and whites.

“Red,” you reply back. “What bottle is that? If it’s expensive he’ll kill you.”

“Chateau Cheval Blanc. 1947. Aged to perfection,” Miguel says, walking towards you at the couch with two large rounded glasses in hand accompanied with a rather expensive looking wine bottle. When he rounds the couch you quirk an eye at him. “All the bottles he has are expensive. And technically, they’re my bottles too.”

You roll your eyes and can’t help but smile. With a pop, the champagne bottle opens, and the smooth pour of amber liquid fills your glass.

At the first sip, it’s tart, a slight edge to the wine. But with each sip, the notes of fruit and full bodied taste of it begins to hit your taste bud. As you sip, conversation between you and Miguel follows. He tells you about his own perils as Spider-Man, his troubled home life, romantic life, and everything in between.

You laugh. You sip. Your glass empties, and he refills it. You’re warm. Your eyelids become heavier. You’re blinking slower. You’re chewing your lip. You’re nervous.

You’re nervous to be alone with Miguel like this. You’re scared of his charm, his dry humour. His chiseled jaw and rounded lips. You really wanna kiss him.

You realize he’s been talking to you this whole time, sat across the couch, droning on about his own LYLA. You feel the heat in your stare, and you wonder if he can too. You can’t help but look at his lips while he’s talking, his tongue peeking out in a flash of pink to wet his lips after a prolonged sentence.

Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me.

Your hand slowly comes up towards Miguel’s face and the words slowly die out of his mouth until he’s silent, staring at you like you’ve been staring it him.

“S’good wine,” you say, rubbing soft circles into his cheek.

“Yeah?” he asks, and you nod and bite your lip. “How comes, baby?” You blush. He’s teasing you now. This is exactly what you wanted.

“Makes me feel warm.”

You’re meek in your speech, and Miguel finds it adorable, building up the all too palpable feeling of attraction. “Just warm?” he prods, his turn to run circles onto your skin. You’re glad you worse a dress, you think, as his hand trails slowly up your thigh until his fingers are just centimetres away from where you really want them. Then he begins to caress your upper thigh with his thick hand. You’re beyond the point of wanting a kiss now.

You shake your head slowly. “Not just warm. Needy,” you sigh out. Your hand leaves his face and falls on top of his hand on your thigh, and you pull it up ever so slightly until he’s touching you where you really want it, his fingers simply resting against the fabric of your panties. “Feel needy here.”

“Oh, baby..” he drawls, and he pulls you in with a kiss with his free hand. You feel yourself melt into him, a little dizzy. Whether it’s the wine or Miguel, you’re unsure, but you savour this feeling, scared for it to end. Your lips exchange taste, his mouth tasting of the wine, mint and cigarettes. You can’t help but grind yourself into his fingers, and he finally gets the hint and rubs against the crotch of your panties, coaxing the wetness out of you. Your lips don’t leave eachother, the moment you’ve been waiting for being fuelled but the weeks worth of desire for this Miguel, and years worth of repressed feelings for the other. Your hands comb through his thick brown hair, holding onto him as if he’ll disappear if you let go. Your lips leave his to whisper your words of desire into his ear. You can’t wait anymore.

“F-fuck me, please.”

He groans, his lips making his way to your neck to suck, and when your field of vision clears up you freeze. Miguel is home. Standing in the doorway to his apartment, watching you suck face with his tether. You feel like a kid whose hand got caught in the cookie jar, the strong look of displeasure, anger, at catching you in the middle of defiling his couch. Other Miguel eases up off of your neck with a satisfied face that falls flat when he sees the expression on yours, eyes fixed over his shoulder. He sits up and turns around and freezes once he sees what you see.

It’s unbelievably tense in the room. Your mind feeling like it’s going a mile a minute, while also feeling like you’re unable to produce a coherent thought, a combination of Miguel’s touches and that damned red wine.

Your mouth opens and closes over and over, until you blurt out some half-coherent apology for making out with his indimensional counterpart in his home.

“I’ll um- leave.”

You get up and grab your purse, walking past your Miguel on your way to the door, but you’re met with a strong hand on your shoulder. His strong hand on your shoulder. “Sit.”

It’s all he says. And you do.

You slowly stalk back to the couch, sat in the middle trying to keep a respectable distance from the other Miguel, considering the embarrassing position you were caught in. Miguel makes his way over to the couch, looking at the wine bottle and wine glasses on his glass centre table.

“1947. Good year,” he smirks, and you’re feel your stomach twist. What is he playing at?

Finally, Miguel sits beside you, and you feel your face heat up at your predicament. Stuck between a rock and a hard place.

“I’m not upset about what you two did in here,” Miguel states plainly. He runs his eyes down your neck at the drying spit in between the juncture of it and your shoulder. You look down in embarrassment, but his hand lifts your chin up to look at him once more. “I’m just upset he wasn’t going to wait for me,” he says, brushing his fingers across your cheek and down your chin. You barely have a moment to process what the fuck is happening before his lips crash into yours. Your wine-muddled brain is swirling with so many thoughts but the only one you listen to is the one telling you to kiss him back, so you do. You kiss him back softly, letting him lead you into it. His tongue slips between your lips when you let out a soft moan, and the kiss breaks. Miguel chuckles at your face. He looks beyond you and eyes his twin. “You gonna join or what?”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” other Miguel muses, and grabs your chin to kiss you next. The difference between the two kisses has your mind spinning. One soft but dominating, the other hot and heavy. You want to feel them both forever. You feel another pair of lips on your body, your neck specifically, softly kissing up and down the plane of skin there until the soft kisses turn into lingering nips, and the nips turn into bites and sucks that have you writhing against the couch.

Other Miguel breaks the kiss to move his way down to the juncture of your neck, littering it with bites and kisses as well. The stimulation on both sides feels so good, you can’t help but moan and tilt your head back. With lips preoccupied, a set of hands moves to life your shirt, exposing your bra and the swell of your breasts. Palms move through cups of your bra up, freeing your breasts. They’re only free for so long until a palm envelopes one, and a pair of lips from your neck migrates to your unattended nipple. Your eyes have been closed this entire time, the sensation and sheer circumstance throwing you for a loop. You open your eyes and look down, to see your Miguel sucking and pawing at your breasts, while the other continues to lick and bite at you. You feel sharp teeth graze your nipple and you hiss, your hand moving to the back of Miguel’s head and running your fingers through his brown hair, gripping slightly. He peeks up at your face with a smirk, biting one nipple and pinching the other. Your back arches and you inhale shakily and he chuckles. “Naughty fucking girl. Strip.”

It takes you a moment before your brain processes the words you just heard, but after a moment you realize what he said. Strip. You get up, back facing the two, and you undress slowly, and you become privy the sound of them stripping along with you. you sit back down between the two, hands in your palms and nervous. You’ve had sex before but never this intense, or with two guys at once.

“Can you get on your hands and knees for me, mama? I want your ass this way.” Your Miguel asks.

Ever so pliant, you obey. Ass up, face down in the other Miguel’s lap. You take the time to look at his dick from where you are and your eyes bulge. He’s not the longest but fuck is he thick. He’s well groomed, his curly pubic hair kept primped and cut at his base. In your reverie, you feel something wet lick up at your slit and it sends a chill down your spine. He’s eating your pussy. Miguel is eating your pussy.

“Taste so good down here too,” he muses from behind you, inhaling you before diving his tongue deep within you. Your lower body feels like it’s been set ablaze, your nerves on edge and Miguel’s prodding and licking and sucking and rubbing. His fingers circle your clit slowly as he eats you out and you feel like you’re in heaven.

“I see you’re feeling good, huh baby. Make me feel good too, yeah?” Other Miguel says, caressing your hair away from his face. You nod, and grab his thick cock in your hand, beginning to slowly jerk him off. “Yeah, just like that baby,” he sighs, watching you intensely. You jerk him off for another moment before you lift your head up and lick haphazardly at the tip of his penis, twitching and leaking already. You look up at him as you give his tip kitten licks, and then put the tip in your mouth. “Fucking vixen, you are,” he groans, his hand coming to sit at the back of your head. You bob your head up and down slowly, trying your best not to scrape your teeth against his shaft while your Miguel eats you out so feverishly. You’re sucking and licking as best as you can, reaching a hand around to cup and massage Miguel’s balls, and his hips twitch up and push him deeper in the back of your throat. You moan, at both him and the Miguel behind you, and Miguel notices. He holds your head more firmly before he starts to thrust up into your mouth, fucking your face. Your mouth produces obscene noises, leaking spit around the base of his cock and down your lips. You moan as he fucks your face and suddenly you jolt. A thick finger breaches in you and starts thrusting against your walls, and you can’t help but moan, feeling already full from both ends. One finger becomes two, and Miguel finger fucks you to the pace of other Miguel’s hips. “Taking us so fucking well, baby. Good girl. So good. Take it for us.” You don’t know which one says it, but you keen at the praise. You want more. Your throat feels tight, like you’re gonna suffocate on this thick cock, but you hold out, feeling so good and hot inside. “Almost there baby. Swallow it all.” You muster the energy to flit your eyes up and see Miguel’s eyes closed as he fucks your face voraciously. You feel hot, both at the fingers inside you and the face Miguel is making. With each thrust, your nose hits his pubes and it makes him moan increasingly louder until he thrusts one final time and groans. “Take it for me, baby. Don’t swallow yet, fuck. Fuck!” he moans. He pulls his dick out of your mouth until it’s just the tip your lips wrap around. You breathe deeply through your nose, finally. You let Miguel’s potent cum spurt in your mouth until he finishes and pulls out.

“Show me,” he breathes.

You open your mouth and stick your tongue out, showing him the white ropes of cum in your mouth and how groans, pulling you up to his lips to kiss him messily. You’re dumbfounded before you can even realize that your Miguel pulls you away and towards him next, pulling you into a kiss too. His tongue swirls in your mouth before he pulls away from you. “I told you I wanted to share,” he says, before kissing you again. Your head is spinning. You’re not even sure this entire thing isn’t some mega fucked up erotic dream you’re having. You can’t find it in you to care if it is or not for another moment when you feel Miguel grab your hand and wrap it around his cock. Your fingernails barely touch around the girth of him so you look down and holy shit.

Miguel chuckles at your reaction to his size. He must get this often. His cock is definitely proportional to the rest of him, long and thick all over with a trail of curly dark hair at his base. It’s not as groomed as other Miguel’s but you don’t mind. The leaking, uncut cock in front of has you pulsating inside, and you bend down to lick the precum from his dick. “Such a good girl for me. I don’t even have to tell you what to do,” Miguel says, stroking your hair. You hear movement behind you before lips lick from your clit to asshole, and it takes you by surprise. Your lips pop off of Miguel’s cock and you turn around to see the other Miguel, already semi-errect with a smug smile on his lips. “I-I’ve never.. not there,” you stutter. “Just relax baby. M’here to make you feel good,” a says, rubbing his hand across your right ass-cheek. You nod and go back to sucking off Miguel, feeling the wet tickle of Miguel’s tongue against your asshole. You can’t help but tense as him placing kisses back there. He brings his other hand up to your other ass-cheek and spreads you apart. So vulgar, but you can’t help but find a part of you that likes it.

Miguel spit on your asshole, causing a squeak to leave your stuffed lips, before his plunged his tongue in the hole. Your head starts to fly back before Miguel’s hand stops you and pushes you down, two thirds of his dick down your throat.

“Ah ah, baby. Be a good girl and show me how you suck me off,” he says, rubbing the apple of your bulging cheek with his hand. Be a good girl and show him. With Miguel’s thrusting tongue in your ass, you keep forward and try and fit more of Miguel’s dick in your mouth, sucking him and jerking off what can’t fit in your mouth. “Just like that, baby. Yeah. Make your master happy.”

Your stomach contracts at the word master and something flips in you. You suck his cock until you feel like your jaw is about to dislocate, letting yourself get lost in the praise and the pleasure, feeling an orgasm build up from getting your ass ate. You begin your tremble at the constant stimulation, sucking even harder. Your feel Miguel’s dick twitch in your mouth, an almost there slipping from his lips as you suck and lick and jerk him off. Your hips start to shake when you pull off his dick, placing the tip against your tongue and jerking him, wanting to milk him of his seed.

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna cum.” Miguel pants.

You brace yourself and open your mouth even wider, jerking him as he cums in your mouth. Miguel’s tart cum falls against your tongue, falling down the side of your face as you hold your mouth open for him. He groans above you and curses. “Swallow it.” And you do. Miguel groans before he leans down to meet you in a dirty kiss, and you can’t hold it in anymore before you’re groaning into his mouth and shivering into him from your orgasm. Other Miguel doesn’t stop licking you, licking up the liquid leaking from your pussy with a salacious sounding moan. “Sweet fucking pussy,” he moans between licks, and you’re trembling at the overstimulation, sending you into a second orgasm. This time, you feel your body tense up, and before you know it, you’re squirting into Miguel’s mouth. You gasp, and move your hips from Miguel’s face, feeling your own liquid leak down your leg.

“Yeah, baby. So fuckin’ sweet,” the words make your clit tremble, the sheer base in Miguel’s voice twisting and turning, prodding and pulling at your nerves. “Don’t run, lemme finish, yeah?”

Your hips buck up and away wildly but to no avail, Miguel proving to be an immovable force to your constant movement. With every suck and lick, you feel your energy depleted as the pleasure crosses the threshold of pain, the overstimulation making your body go both numb and still. You’re engulfed in a haze, your body going limp against the couch save for your pelvis held up by two very large hands.

Distantly, you hear skin slapping and you flit your eyes up for a moment to see your Miguel jerking off at the sight of you, surrendered fully to them both. Your eyes roll towards the back of your head when you feel the wetness of Miguel’s thick tongue lick up from your clit to your ass, prodding the tight rim of muscle lightly with his tongue. Before you can register what’s about to happen, you feel a gush of wetness leave you and you groan, utterly exhausted simply from foreplay. Your ears pick up on the increased speed your Miguel took in jerking himself off, a groan leaving his lips shortly after your own does. You picture him covered in his own cum, white sketched across his tone and tanned abs, and the mental picture is enough to get you excited again, despite the way your muscles protest.

“Such a good girl, taking my mouth like that.”

You suppose you should answer, but your tongue is limp in your mouth, unable to force a sequencing of words out. Instead, you let out a pathetic sounding moan.

“I want a taste too. Holding out on me, baby?”

You half expect the stimulation to start again, tensing up, anticipating a touch to your sensitive clit. After a beat, you finally notice you’re untouched still, and a part of you is graceful for this recovery time, but the shuffling behind you has you finding the strength to lift your head up and—

Oh my fucking god.

Your brain short circuits for a moment, trying to make sense of what you’re seeing above you.

Your eyes flutter open and close a few times, somewhat of a quick blink to make sure you’re not riding off some ecstasy high that has you imagining things, that has you imagining both Miguel’s kissing.

It’s slow, and messy at the same time. Your fluids are being lapped up and exchanged by the two men, who lap up and exchange their own saliva as well. You’re struggling to make sense of the eroticism of it, and sheer absurdity of two Miguel O’Haras making out, both mouths wet of your pussy’s nectar. The cognitive dissonance starts to kick your ass a bit, rationalizing the logistics of self incest and it being plain out sexy.

They break apart, both slightly flushed. Your Miguel eyes you with low, brown eyes while your gaze is transfixed at his wet lips, a singular web of saliva connecting both of the men’s lips as they pull apart. Your breath is caught in your throat and you’ve immediately made your decision about the bullshit logistics of this dimensional anomaly. It’s making you so fucking wet.

You’re sure Miguel notices your face, as a breathy laugh leaves his plump lips, wet with both you and him and another him.

“Knew you’d taste good.” He winks and smiles a smile that has your legs regaining feeling once more.

You slowly sit up, straddling yourself in Miguel’s lap. “Want you in,” your hands wrap around his strong shoulders and you lay your cheek against his chest, grinding your sensitive wet lips up and against his dick slowly. You have other Miguel in your line of sight, and you see him watching you both, cock straining against his stomach. It has you feeling warm, thinking of how he unwound you from the inside like that earlier with only his mouth. You can only imagine how it would feel with him inside you. “I- I want you in me too. Please..”

Your voice comes out as meek, but the raunchy display of your hips grinding, face flushed, is anything but.

“Gotta go slowly, mama. You ready?” Miguel asks you, his large hands resting at your hips now, slowly increasing the friction of your wet pussy lips against his thick cock. You moan a bit, and nod in his chest. The thick tip of Miguel’s dick stretches its way inside your pussy, burning slightly despite how wet you are. You wince in pleasure, savouring the burn of the stretch. Other Miguel sits up and makes his way behind you, kissing your back and neck as you sink down onto your Miguel’s cock.

“Fucking tight,” Miguel groans, just as aroused and affected as you are in all the hazy pleasure. Once you’re fully sat, you can’t help but sit up and look down at your lower stomach, a slight bulge in your lower abdomen. “Holy shit,” you moan. You’re pushed back against Miguel’s chest and you squeak at the sudden movement.

“Gonna fuck your tight little ass, baby. Okay?”

It’s rough the way he spits it out into your ear from behind you. You can hear the arousal and anticipation in Miguel’s voice. He spreads your cheeks, spitting on your taut hole. “Gonna have to relax f’me, baby. Gonna be a real tight squeeze.”

You wince and hold onto your Miguel as the other one enters you from behind. While his size isn’t as big as your Miguel, he’s still insanely thick and long in his own right. It takes a lot out of you to withstand the entrance. Soft kisses to your temple and shoulder, sweet nothings and whisperings of “You’re doing so well”, “Good little girl” tickle your ears. From who, you’re not sure. But the verbal praise makes the pain worth it with the way a concentrated heat builds in the depths of your stomach from their charged words.

“I’m all in baby, tell me when you’re ready.” You blink once, twice, and exhale a curt puff of breath. You can’t wait anymore.

“M-move, but slow.”

As soon as the words leave your lips, the rocking of hips start, and you feel everything. The pain, the pleasure, the push, the pull, the sheer unnerving hot heat and sensation the two men bounce you between.

After the initial moment of processing the moment you’re having with these two men, these two Miguel’s, you feel your body become both wracked and accepting of the pleasure. The cant of hips get rougher, the spill of moans and breath get louder, and you start to feel yourself get lost in the raunchiness of it all. Your hands roam up a plane of firm musculature and it has you reeling. Miguel is so manly you can’t help but let it turn you on.

“Feeling good, hm?” Miguel’s full lips are pulled into a smirk as he fucks up into your pussy and you simply grip onto his biceps as he drives into you harder. One particular thrust has you sitting up and leaving back into the other Miguel, head tucked away into the juncture of his neck as he fucks your ass from behind. “I think- fuck- we broke her, man. Can barely speak.” You can hear the smirk in Miguel’s voice as he says that, but you can’t be bothered to protest, because you feel like if you let them fuck you any longer you’ll enter comatose.

Hands from behind you roam up from your hips to your breasts, squeezing at the expanse of your chest tenderly. Simultaneously, thick hands plant themselves on your hips, squeezing as they bring you down in time to the upwards thrusts of hips. “Oh my god- I’m gonna c-cum,” you breathe out, feeling your body wind itself up, preparing for another explosive release. The hands at your breasts start to squeeze your nipples, pinching and pulling the sensitive and erect buds, and you squeal.

“So fucking sensitive, baby.” You know that’s the other Miguel, his lips are directly next to your ear. You turn your face towards his and plant your lips against his, desperate for a kiss. Your lips tingle as he kisses you back and you moan in his mouth, your hands running through his thick brown hair and gripping gentle for support. You’re sure that if you were to let go you’d fall face first into your Miguel’s chest, which wouldn’t be all bad now that you’re thinking about it.

Your kiss with Miguel breaks when you feel something warm and wet wrap around your nipple- Miguel’s mouth. You gasp, feeling yourself tighten around him inside of your pussy as you watch him suckle at your breast. Lips trail up against your neck and they suck and Oh my god- he bites your nipple and you moan so loud it almost startles you. That signature smirk doesn’t cease to appear on Miguel’s face even with your nipple between his lips, and you’d smack him if he wasn’t fucking you oh so well.

The lips sucking hickeys into your neck stop and the cold air drying the spit there makes you shiver. Miguel chuckles behind you and you feel the reverberation of the sound in his chest up against your back and it makes you feel warm inside. You can’t hold on for much longer if the two keep teasing you like this. “P-please let me cum, I can’t anymore,” you heave out, both exhausted and inexplicably excited.

“What do you say, Miguel. Should we let her finish?” A voice behind you. Your eyes squeeze close at a particularly intense thrust to your ass.

“Mmm, I don’t think she wants it enough.” A gravelly voice from your front says. He unlatches from your nipples. Thick fingers tease at your clit and you keen forward.

“P- please oh my gosh please let me come I want it so bad-“ You feel like you’re on your knees, begging to two unmerciful gods to turn your punishment into something considerably comparable to a torturing pleasure.

“Hold on for juuust a little, baby. We’ll make you feel real good, real soon.”

The thick fingers teasing your clit, which you’ve deduced belong to the Miguel behind you, move on from their teasing to rubbing strong circles into your clit and you feel your legs begin to tremble. The feeling of your body getting ready to unwind feels closer and closer and you feel your ass and your pussy get fucked harder and harder until-

When it happens you feel disjointed from your body, watching from third person. You can see yourself, squirming and twitching and shaking and squirting again all over Miguel’s couch and lap and they’re still fucking you because they haven’t cum yet. Your body begins to go slack and you fall against your Miguel’s chest, lips grazing his nipple as he continues to fuck up into you fervently.

“Looks like we fucked you numb, baby,” he laughs and you hear it- feel it in his chest, and you moan lazily. “Oh baby, I know. I’m almost ready to cum. Just a little more.”

“F-fuck, I’m gonna burst back here,” Other Miguel grunts above you. His hips pound roughly for two- three- four more thrusts before his stills into you and you can feel his cum spurt into you and you shiver. Right behind him your Miguel follows fucking his cum into your pussy with a deep and heavy groan.

“S-So deep…” you breathe out, relishing in the stillness between all three of you. Heavy breathing weighs in the air for few moments before you feel Miguel slowly begin to pull out of your ass, his cum leaking out of you lewdly. You inhale a sharp breath as he moves to sit down on the couch, and that’s when your Miguel lifts you off of his semi-softened cock and onto your back on his lush sofa.

Your chest rises up and down and your eyes flutter closed as you struggle to catch your breath and wrap your head around what happened, but you barely get a moment’s rest before your knees are pushed up to the side of your head and you’re basically balancing yourself on your shoulders. Your eyes shoot open and you see two heads above you.

“Gotta taste our work, don’t we?”

One mouth against your creampied pussy, one mouth against your cum filled ass. You’re not too concerned about who mouth is where- but them sucking at your holes, licking up their cum and yours too is sending your body into overdrive with the overstimulation.

You focus on the image up above you and your eyes bulge in your head at what you see, with each lick up your mounds, the tongues between the two Miguel’s touch. With each lick their tongues touch longer, and longer, until they kiss once more, exchanging each other’s cum with your in their mouths and you’re sure you’ve begun to witness an orgasm induced hallucination. They finish kissing, lips and mouths wet and messy, and your legs come back down from your head to the soft couch cushions.

Your mind is absolutely reeling, processing the last few hours up until moments ago, feeling warm in the face already.

You’re so fucked going back to work.

#miguel o’hara smut #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara drabble #comic miguel #comic miguel o’hara #comic miguel o’hara smut #miguel atsv smut #miguel o’hara x you #miguel smut #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o’hara x y/n #feature films💌

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emisprocrastinatingbywriting · 21 days ago

Text

To Break Free

Chapter Three Summary:

After Joel's barbecue, you wake up disoriented and alone, haunted by a night full of painful memories. However, after your handsome neighbour surprises you with breakfast, your day seems off to be off to a great start. Meanwhile Joel is trying his best so that he can be the man he knows you deserve. Nevertheless, with both of you running from the past, will you be able to stand together in the present?

Warnings: NoOutbreak!Joel Miller/Reader, Sarah and Ellie as Siblings, Neighbour!Joel, Angst, Fluff, Romance, Pining, Soft!Joel, Lowkey Traumatized!Joel & Reader, Mentions of Past Abuse/Shitty Relationships, Comfort, Non Penetrative Smutty Things, Fem!Reader/Joel.

A/N:

Hey y'all, welcome back. Sorry this took so long, I have depression lol and I've been working on my thesis. Word of the wise; don't live in places where its -40c in the winter if you get sad sometimes.

Aaanwaaays, this chapter starts off the morning after the barbecue and we get to see more alone time between the two. Warning that they go into their pasts a bit and there is definitly some talks of emotional abuse, abandonment, allusions to substance abuse (past), so be wary of that. Additionally, I added a touch of smut near the end. This week is really about laying the ground work for future chapters so get ready. I hope you enjoy this chapter and as always, thanks for reading <3

Chapter 3/10

Chapter 3: Begin Again

An endless stream of dreams had taken hold of you after Joel’s barbecue. Memories of the past blurred together with the present, fears and hopes mingling until you weren’t sure what was real and what was your own traitorous mind. No matter how violently you thrashed against the sheets, trying desperately to force yourself awake, you remained locked inside of yourself. It was torment but just as you started to wonder if you would be forever lost in a sea of unsettling, agonizing recollections, the sound of someone pounding at the front door had torn you from sleep.

With a drawn out groan, you lifted your head, eyes burning as you tried to figure out who the hell would be beating the door down on a Sunday morning. With your head pounding along with the heavy raps on the wood, you buried your face in the pillow and sighed. If you ignored them for long enough, maybe the mystery guest would go away. However, just as you thought that you might be in the clear, another flurry of fists slamming against the door put any hopes of going back to sleep to rest.

“Fuck’s sake,” you grumbled, ready to tear the face off of whoever was making you stumble out of bed before ten a.m. on one of your only days off.

After the surprise phone call from your shitty ex the previous night, it wasn’t surprising that your disastrous marriage had been the thing to haunt you for hours on end. Every dream had served as yet another reminder of the emotional torture that had been inflicted upon you, along with how stupid you had been to stay with him for so long. Peter’s words had been like knives, slicing into your most vulnerable parts until you agreed to bend to his will, except this time was different. His cruelty would have been just as excruciating and embarrassing as it had been the first time, had it not been for the calming presence that had followed you through each recollection.

The first memory had been from near the beginning of your marriage, when Peter had publicly berated you in the corner of some needlessly extravagant social event. It was one of the first times he had let the mask drop, spewing venom through his lips because you chose to wear a dress that he didn’t like. Nevertheless, just as you were about to dissolve into a puddle of tears, a flash of a familiar green flannel had caught your eye. When you saw him, a wave of peace had washed over you, injecting oxytocin straight into your brain until your mind was thick with it. He didn’t even need to be beside you, just knowing that he was somewhere in the stuffy room had been enough to block your ex husband out.

Those expressive brown eyes, so warm yet so vigilant in the face of danger, had studied you from across the room, reminding you that you were safe. The shackles of the past loosened as you stared back at him, allowing you to take a step away from the belligerent man who continued to scald you with his words. It was like Peter no longer existed, all that mattered was reaching the handsome man that sat at the bar waiting for you. But just as you were about to reach him, the room started to shift and you were sucked into another memory.

The next one was even worse. No matter how hard you tried to stop yourself from remembering, you were suddenly back in your old apartment on that wretched day of reckoning. With every step forward you tried to dig your heels into the floor, screaming internally as you were dragged towards the ultimate embarrassment. You remembered being excited that day, stupidly optimistic when you noticed that your husband was home before 11 p.m. for once. Nonetheless, any hopefulness had been dashed when you were confronted with the sight of him, naked and writhing on top of another woman in the bed you shared.

Horrified, you stumbled backwards just like you had that day, tears running down your face as your shoulder blades knocked into the picture frame behind you. The picture had shattered against the floor, the glass scattering across the wood as you began to hyperventilate. The only difference was that this time, a big bear paw of a hand had wrapped itself around your own, silently reminding you that he was there, that you weren’t alone anymore.

Although he never spoke in any of the memories that followed, Joel had remained a steady presence throughout all of them. Whether it be the brush of a hand, or just his knowing gaze, he had chased you through even the most torturous moments of your life. And you had chased him back, desperately looking for him no matter which disaster was unfolding. It was the most infuriating game of cat and mouse that you had ever played. All you wanted was to finally catch up to him, to wrap your arms around him and hear that southern drawl comforting you but alas, some asshole had to end the chase by slamming their fists into your door at the asscrack of dawn.

As you reached the stairs, you looked down at your rumpled attire, letting out a small chuckle as you realized that you had forgotten to change. The clothes Joel had let you borrow still hugged your frame and with his heady scent clinging to the fabric, it was no wonder he had leaked into your dreams. Wearing his clothes was like a warm hug, a strong number two for the man himself, ensuring that you would stay asleep even if the nightmares came knocking.

Even in your dreams Joel had been standing watch, acting as a silent guard dog to all the things you hoped to never remember. There was a comfort in that, in knowing that your brain would create a Joel Miller in lieu of his absence. Nevertheless, despite how comforted you were by thoughts of your handsome neighbour, someone was still banging down your door. And maybe if your home wasn’t already a million degrees, or if you had gotten a decent sleep, you could have let it slide but instead, another round of frustratingly loud bangs forced you to pick up the pace.

“I’m coming! Jesus fucking Christ, would you chill out?!,” you shouted, growing more impatient by the second.

With smoke pouring from your ears, you nearly tore the door off its hinges when you finally reached it. You took one step out onto the porch, ready to tear whoever dragged you out of bed a new one, only to be met with a wall of muscle that nearly knocked you off balance. As you looked up at the early morning visitor, all of the pent up rage dissolved, a high pitched squeak leaving you as the man who had chased you all throughout the night suddenly towered over you.

Joel Miller was leaned up against your doorframe, one arm pressed against the wood by your head while the other was weighed down with a hefty looking tote. His hulking frame loomed over you, making you so flustered that you almost fell flat on your ass. A tool belt was wrapped around his waist, tugging on his pants and teasing you with just a hint of his boxers. The slightly beat up pair of carpenter pants he wore hugged his strong thighs perfectly, fitting him so well that you had to look away before you reached out and tried to yank them off.

Your eyes dragged up the length of Joel’s body, noticing just how good the simple t-shirt looked clinging to his muscles. There was a slight softness to his belly that pressed against the fabric and you longed to bend down to nibble at it. You sighed, he looked absolutely delicious. There was only one thing that was bothering you. All of his curls had been tucked away, cruelly hidden underneath a beat up baseball cap that advertised his business. Would Joel be angry if you petulantly knocked it off of his head? You weren’t sure, but the rewards seemed to greatly outweigh the risk. Nevertheless, you restrained yourself, trying to satiate your ridiculous wants by staring into his warm and welcoming eyes.

“Hi,” you said softly, shifting nervously as he smiled down at you.

“Morning darling,” Joel answered, the term of endearment rolling off of his tongue like he had been saying it for years, “Or should I say, good afternoon.”

“What?,” you squeaked, whirling around to look at the time.

There was a wooden clock that hung in your living room. It was one of the only relics of the elderly woman that had previously lived there and you refused to give up. It had been hand carved by someone, the glossy wood detailed with flowers and leaves, but the best part was the little red robin that came out to chirp every time it struck twelve. Most times, you were already well into your day when the bird made an appearance, fresh faced and ready to take on the world. However that day, with only ten minutes until noon, that would not be the case. You sighed, realizing that your usual Sunday routine was ruined.

Usually, you started off with a nice breakfast before driving to the farmer’s market to get some fresh veggies and fruits. But with the sun already high in the sky and only an hour left until the stalls closed, all of the best picks would be sold. You sighed, cursing your past self for being too frazzled by the men in your life to set an alarm. With how late it was, you would have to brave the overwhelmingly loud and frequently disappointing aisles at the local grocery store.

“Shit, I didn’t even realize,” you swore, running your hands through the bird’s nest on top of your head in frustration.

“Really? Ya don’t say,” Joel shot back, the sarcasm dripping from his tone as he stepped forward and asked, “You gonna let me in? Or am I just gonna stand out here all day?”

“Fuck, I’m sorry. Come on in Joel,” you apologized, quickly ushering him in like there was something biting at his heels, “Dammit, I swear that I’m not usually in bed so late. I don’t know what happened, I’m usually up before ten. You weren’t waiting long, were you?”

“Not long, no,” he said calmly.

Joel’s eyes swept over you as he stepped further into your home, zeroing in on every inch of your rumpled state until you began to tremble. The trembling was not fear but from something else, something that felt like a lightning bolt had slammed into your chest and burrowed itself deep inside of your ribcage. Which he noticed, of course he noticed, a proud grin spreading across his face as desire curved around your spine. He didn’t linger long, only granting himself one last once over that made your knees shake before he finally looked away.

“Don’t be apologizin’ for sleeping in when it was me that kept ya up last night. I know that I probably should have waited a bit, but I wanted to see ya. Plus, with how fucking hot it is, I figured you’d be baking in here if I didn’t come soon,” he joked as he strolled away.

Joel slipped into your living room, entering your space like it was his own. Meanwhile, you were channeling all of your energy into staying calm. He wanted to see you, after spending the whole of yesterday afternoon and well into the night in your presence, he wanted even more time with you. It felt too good to be true.

Trying to focus on breathing, you quietly followed Joel and perched on the arm on the couch, eyeing him as he circled the AC like it was his prey. He was undaunted by the task as he crouched down to get a better look at the hunk of metal, even making a joke about the slight damage you had done to it when you had angrily ripped it out of the window. You kept waiting for him to snap at you, or exact a price for his services, but neither of those things came to pass. Instead he got down to work, ignoring your anxious hovering as he cracked the air conditioner open and examined the inside of it.

Never in your life had you been in such a nerve racking position. Most of your relationships with partners, friends, or even family, had been largely transactional. People always wanted pieces of you, whether it be body, mind, or the victory of gaining your subservience. Nobody ever wanted you as a whole, nor did they ever care enough to give you anything in return other than heartache. After years of being torn to pieces your understanding of love had been twisted, your sense of self had been warped, and the ability to have someone else take care of you had all but vanished.

Nevertheless, with Joel in your life, it was becoming increasingly clear that you were going to have to learn how to get over it. Logically, you knew that there was nothing wrong with accepting help, especially when it was him that demanded that he be the one to fix it, but the demons in your head would not let it go. How could you let this man, a man who was likely already bogged down with the stress of being a single father and owning his own business, fix your things without giving him something in return? With only a few hundred dollars in your bank account, which you knew that he would never accept, there was only one thing that you could possibly offer him.

“Have you had breakfast yet? Or um, I could make you lunch?,” you piped up, already hurrying over to the kitchen so that you could comb through the fridge, “I don’t have much right now, but I’m sure there’s something in here I could make for you!”

Of all the times for Joel to come over, he just had to choose grocery day. Much to your dismay, the inside of your fridge was absolutely baren. There was nothing but a half tub of butter, a questionable looking bag of baby carrots, a few stray beers, and all of the condiments that a girl could ask for. Even the pantry was stark, though that was mostly due to the two teens that regularly raided it for snacks. They had emptied it during the midweek gossip session, chowing down on all of your chips and sweets as they updated you on all of the highschool drama that you had become hopelessly invested in.

When faced with an overwhelmingly bleak selection, you usually would have said fuck it and pulled out the take out menu, ordering a feast that you could inhale while you cozied up on the couch. But with Joel in your space, selflessly helping you out of the kindness of his own heart, that felt wrong. He had told you that he was coming over the previous night and yet, you had stupidly forgotten. For some reason not being prepared for his visit felt like some sort of crime, like you had needlessly disappointed him and soon your heart began to pound as you waited for a punishment that would never come.

“Fuck, okay so I can’t do breakfast unless you want um…,” you paused, looking over your scant options, “Some possibly rotten carrots washed down with a beer or uh… I have a can of soup but shit, I don’t know if that’s a good idea with how hot it is. Hold on, let me think.”

Joel laughed, a full belly laugh that lit up his face as he pivoted towards you from where he was crouched. His eyes swept over your figure and he shook his head, still chuckling to himself as he set his screwdriver down and stood up from the floor.

“Darling, I don’t need -”

“Or coffee? There might be some instant coffee somewhere. I’m going to be honest with you, I don’t have a machine because I always fuck it up but instant isn’t that bad. I mean hey, it’s still caffeine right?,” you rushed out.

The heat of the day was working against you, mixing with your worsening nerves to leave a heavy layer of sweat over your skin. It didn’t help that Joel’s eyes were on you, the amused look on his face making you even more anxious as he grabbed the tote bag near his feet and drifted over to the kitchen. Fearing a scolding, you hurried over to the cabinets and got up on your tiptoes, reaching for one of the mugs until a hand caught your wrist mid air.

“Oh,” you gasped, his touch sending sparks up your arm that radiated throughout your entire body.

Joel lowered your hand back down to your side without saying a word, keeping his eyes locked on yours as he reached over your head to close the cupboard. He didn’t say anything but he didn’t need to. Just like in your dreams, his eyes and his presence said it all. I’m here, he said wordlessly, just breathe. And so you did, slowly matching your breaths with his until you came back to yourself. He nodded once you finally calmed, the tension in his own shoulders releasing like your panic had been hurting him just as badly.

“Good girl,” Joel said under his breath, so quietly that you almost missed it.

Good girl, good girl, good girl, ran through your mind over and over again. His words pinged off all of the pleasure points in your brain, scorching every inch of your being. Your imagination ran wild, thoughts of Joel hissing those two words through his teeth as he pounded you into the mattress making you squirm before him. Was he thinking about it too? Was that why he looked like he was in pain, a small crease formed between his brows like it was physically hurting him not to reach out and touch? Did he mean to make you shake and shiver before him? You didn’t know, all you knew for sure was that those two simple words were enough to fill you with hope, as well as a burning desire.

“Let’s try that again darling,” Joel said, giving you a kind smile as he thrusted his bag out towards you.

Blinking between him and the tote that advertised the local highschool, you cocked an eyebrow, not moving to grab it until he gave you an explanation. A wary look was all you offered him, unsure of what sort of trick was going to be played on you if you took it.

“It’s just a coffee and some leftovers from breakfast. Nothing special, but I figured you might be hungry. You don’t have to take it though if you don’t want t-”

Before Joel had even finished that statement, you snatched the bag away from him and began to dig through it, smiling wide as you unearthed a treasure trove that released a swarm of butterflies inside of your gut. There was a container loaded up with blueberry pancakes and syrup, the glass still warm from the stove, along with another container filled with golden hash browns. But it was the thermos filled with your go-to caffeine and sugar fix that excited you the most.

“You got my coffee order?! Joel! That’s - oh my god - that’s halfway across town! Why the hell would you do that?!,” you admonished, tearing the cover off so you could slurp down half of it in one go despite your protests.

He shook his head, “S’not a big deal, I was already in the area.”

Even to you, that sounded like a load of bullshit, but the fact that he refused to meet your eye confirmed it.

“Oh really? Doing what?,” you cackled as you popped one of the containers open so that you could dig in.

Joel hesitated for a second, squinting hard as he tried to come up with an excuse to discredit himself. The more time you spent with him, the more you realized that he had a habit of doing that. The barbecue had been the first time you noticed it. Anytime someone praised him for the delicious food, or for his hospitality, he waved them off and changed the subject as quickly as he could. It was as if he truly believed that his thoughtfulness was nothing, that it was basic human nature rather than a gift that most men were in grave need of.

“Uh, I was… Getting some tools at the hardware store?,” he tried.

“You’re telling me that Joel Miller, the owner of Miller Contracting, did not already own a screwdriver? Seriously?,” you teased, voice muffled around a mouthful of delicious food.

He blushed, the redness on the high points of his cheekbones spreading down to his neck and up to the tips of his ears.

“Well, I -,” he faltered, groaning as he realized how terrible the lie was, “Fuck’s sake, would you just shut up and enjoy the damn breakfast?”

As Joel turned on his heel, retreating back towards the AC to escape your taunting, you couldn’t help but laugh at him. He was sweet. Too sweet for his own good, you thought as you watched him return to the task at hand. If he was this way with all of his neighbours, you couldn’t imagine how the man got anything done but based on the way he glanced over every so often as you devoured the food, you had a feeling this was not a regular occurrence.

Joel worked methodically, taking the entire machine apart so that he could pinpoint the issue and fix it before he put it back together again. You studied him with rapt attention, eyes following the way his strong muscles flexed as he untightened and tightened the bolts. Although it had taken you nearly two hours of tinkering to deem the machine unfixable, it took only ten minutes for him to find and address the issue. When Joel was done, you watched as a bead of sweat traveled down from his hairline, dampening the collar of his shirt as he easily lifted the AC from the ground and carried it back to the window like it was nothing. It had taken you three tries to tear that thing out and bring it to the ground without dropping it, but he was completely unaffected by the weight, a fact that you tried hard not to dwell on in his presence. That was a thought for later, for when you were alone and desperate in the dead of night.

“Okay, let’s see if she works,” Joel sighed as he flipped the switch.

A heavy groan came from the ancient hunk of metal as it sputtered to life, like it was angry with Joel for forcing it back into the world of the living, but cool air soon began to flow freely into your home. You cheered, hurrying over so that you could bask in the icy breeze as it poured into the space. All of the sweat that dampened your face began to dry as the air washed over you and you couldn’t help the slightly embarrassing noise that slipped past your lips.

“God, that’s feels so fucking good. Thank you, I don’t know how I would have survived these next few days without you,” you laughed and shook your head, “To be honest, I was debating on sleeping at the library until the repairman could come in. You really saved my ass Joel.”

“The library?,” Joel squawked, as if it was the craziest thing in the entire universe.

You shrugged. It wasn’t that insane, especially when you didn’t have the funds to pay for something more comfortable at one of the local hotels. Hell, you barely had the money for the repair guy but after only a few hours without air conditioning, it had become clear that raw dogging the heat of a Texan summer was simply out of the question.

“I mean, yeah? It’s not like I would be sleeping on the floor, my office has a couch. Beggars can’t be choosers and plus, the basement it’s in is fucking freezing. That sounds way better than sleeping in Satan’s asscrack all week,” you joked.

Joel pursed his lips, staring down at you with an intensity that threw you off guard. You cocked your head at him, watching as he weighed his words carefully, looking incredibly disgruntled as he tried to find a way to argue with your logic.

“If this happens again, you’re gonna come to me. Hell, if anything breaks, you’re gonna come to me. Not some shitty repair guy, not Joe-blow on the street, you come to me,” Joel said, his tone leaving no room for discussion.

Guilt hit you square in the chest, the thought of using him for his skill set almost too much to bear.

“But Joel, I -”

He held up his hand, “You come to me, especially if it’s gonna mess with your sleep. And if I can’t fix it that day, you’re gonna stay at my house. Don’t even try to argue with me, I don’t want to hear it. You’ll sleep in my bed and I’ll take the couch for the night. That’s all there is to it.”

Joel cocked his eyebrow at you, wordlessly challenging you to fight him on it but you were speechless. Every time you put up a pointless boundary with him, he had absolutely no issue tearing it down. The thought of running to him every single time something broke was ridiculous, especially since nearly everything you owned had been thrifted after your escape from Miami and your home was well over twenty years old. If he truly wanted to be your go to handyman, he was going to have his work cut out for him. Your gut reaction was to refuse him, to remind him that you were perfectly capable of fixing things and did not want to be a burden to his already overwhelmed schedule, but the words died on your lips.

As easy as it should be to ignore Joel’s command, something in his eyes broke through that last little bit of petty resistance you had been holding onto. Although Joel Miller was gentle, soft for you in all the right ways, that didn’t mean he was easy to bend. There was a part of him that was authoritative and exact, an undercurrent of dominance that quickened your pulse. That part of him likely scared others but not you. It drew you to him like a moth to a flame, turning your brain into mush whenever he utilized it.

“I-I um,” you stammered, your voice an octave too high before you cleared your throat, “Thank you Joel, I guess I have someone to call now if shit hits the fan.”

“Always sweetheart. Now,” he affirmed, easily brushing past the thanks like a man on a mission, “Are you finished with breakfast yet?”

“Yes, thank you. It was really good!,” you chirped, swiveling back towards the couch so you could gulp down the rest of your drink.

“Good, that’s real good honey,” he answered, a restlessness suddenly seeping into his tone.

The energy shifted, an awkwardness growing between the two of you. With the air conditioner fixed, there was no reason for Joel to stay but the last thing you wanted was to see him go so soon. It felt like he had just arrived. You sighed, if only you had woken up a bit earlier. Maybe then you could have thrown on something more flattering than a pair of men’s sweatpants and a baggy sweater. It would have been nice to be able to leave him with a more enticing memory.

“So, I was wondering if you wanted to maybe -”

“I don’t know if you’re busy today, but I was -”

The two of you stopped, eyes widening for a moment before you both erupted into a round of raucous laughter. The tension that was sizzling in the air popped, dissolving as the ridiculousness of the situation became painfully clear. Joel wanted to stay and you didn’t want him to go, meaning that there was no reason for either of you to be so worked up. He wasn’t going anywhere and you should have known that from the moment you saw the seven dollar coffee he had driven across town for, or the warm breakfast that just so happened to still be fresh hours after when he would have made it. And you? Well, there was nobody else you’d rather spend your last day off with.

“My bad darling, you go ahead,” Joel chuckled, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck when the laughter finally petered off.

“Um, I was gonna say that I have some things to do today but I was wondering if you’d want to tag along?,” you asked hopefully, fiddling with your fingers as you quickly added, “It’ll probably be pretty boring but I don’t know, I can be fun sometimes. No pressure though.”

“Yes,” Joel answered immediately, not even taking a second to think about it.

“Yes? Just like that?,” you balked, his eagerness making your head spin, “You don’t even know what my plans are. What if you just agreed to rob a bank with me? Or murder someone? I could be a criminal Joel.”

He rolled his eyes, “Well, then your plans wouldn’t be very boring would they?”

“Got me there Miller,” you giggled, unable to keep the goofy grin off of your face.

Joel smiled and looked down at his feet, boyishly scuffing the floors with his dusty boots but you didn’t mind. He could ruin every inch of your freshly scrubbed flooring for all you cared, just so long as you got to watch as he tried and failed not to blush under your scrutiny, getting more worked up the longer you shamelessly stared. Nonetheless, as much as you wanted to watch Joel squirm forever, there was work to be done before you went back to the library on Monday.

“Alright well, I need to go get ready so ah… Just make yourself at home I guess? I’m sure you already know where everything is from last time you were here, but feel free to snoop around if you can’t find something,” you teased, earning a small chuckle from him.

“Take your time baby, I don’t mind waiting,” he replied easily, dropping down onto the sofa with a small grunt.

There was that word again. Baby. It echoed in your mind, reverberating off the inside of your skull until you were close to screaming. Joel had no right to call you that. He had no right to tease out that part of you that longed for connection, that begged to be released again for the first time in years, but he had. He had and you wanted to hear him say it every single day, to lovingly whisper it in your ear on the sleepy mornings that you slept past the alarm, to murmur it against your lips in those stolen moments when he thought nobody was looking, to growl it angrily as he mercilessly pummeled your aching cunt into submission. You wanted it all.

“D’ya wanna take a picture or something?,” Joel drawled, his knowing smirk making you feel warm all over as he caught you red handed, “It’d probably last longer honey.”

“Sorry, I uh… I’ll go get dressed. You just…”

He cocked his head, “I just what?”

Should you say it? Definitely not, but you couldn’t stop the words from coming even if you tried.

“Nothing, it’s -,” you sighed, utterly frustrated at how useless your brain became around him, “It’s just your work clothes. They’re cute - You look very cute in them Joel, that’s all.”

Before Joel had the chance to respond, you spun on your heel and hastened towards the staircase. If you stayed in his presence any longer, you weren’t sure you’d be able to hold back. He was simply too breathtaking sunk into your couch, like he was meant to be there all along. You couldn’t help but picture him there on quiet mornings, lazily thumbing through the newspaper or one of the worn out westerns that you had spotted in his living room. You imagined creeping downstairs and watching him pause to take a sip of his coffee. Would Joel smile when he finally looked up? Or would he crack a joke, his eyes alight with playfulness as you skipped over and snuggled into his side?

“Fucking hell,” you mumbled, shaking your head as you dragged yourself back upstairs.

You needed to focus, to push away the immense longing that was clouding your judgment before you did something utterly embarrassing like slide into his lap and try to kiss him. There would be time for that someday, if you were lucky, but at that moment what you needed to do was pick something to wear that was more appealing than Joel’s rumpled clothes. With that harrowing task ahead, as well as a disaster on top of your head that only seemed to get angrier the more you poked at it, you put Joel Miller in a box, trying like hell not to think about the fact that he was waiting for you downstairs as you readied yourself for the day.

- Joel -

Joel wasn’t sure what he had done in a previous life to deserve his morning. First you had called him cute, despite the fact that his beaten up work clothes were likely trekking dirt all throughout your home and staining the couch. He was thankful that you hadn’t turned back after you said it, as you undoubtedly would have caught his slack jawed stare. But when you had come downstairs all dressed up, batting your pretty eyelashes at him as you asked, are you ready to go handsome? Well, he had nearly choked to death on his own spit.

How was Joel supposed to focus when you were dressed like that? He was too busy staring at the way your flowy little shorts brushed against the soft, supple skin of your thighs or how your breasts strained against the confines of your tank top. If so much as a breeze blew past, he knew that he’d catch a glimpse of the curve of your ass. And if you tried to grab something from the top shelf at the store? Joel would get a lot more than that, as your poor excuse for a shirt was testing his patience with each breath you took.

From the moment your feet had touched down on the first floor, you had rendered Joel’s vocal chords useless and with no possibility of communicating, he had no choice but to nod and gesture towards the door in hopes that you would understand. He sighed when you smiled at him and skipped towards the door without question, only to get an even more devastating look at your backside as you led the way. If Joel was a better man, a stronger man, he would have been a gentleman and looked away, but he wasn’t. Instead, he found himself subtly readjusting himself so that he didn’t have to waddle to the outside like an idiot, hoping like hell you didn’t notice.

“Alright so, I really need to get groceries so that I don’t starve this week aaaand I also have a book order to pick up. Which one do you wanna do first?,” you asked excitedly, practically bouncing down the steps of the porch.

He snorted, “Forgive me if I’m wrong sweetheart, but don’t you work at an honest to god library? What are you doing buying books? Can’t you get them for free?”

“Well yeah, but we don’t always carry the types of books I want to read. Sometimes I like to spice it up a bit ya know? Get something off the menu, if you know what I mean,” you said suggestively, nudging him in the ribs as you wiggled your eyebrows at him.

Joel had no idea what you meant, but he smiled and nodded nonetheless. He wasn’t much of a reader, with most of his experience being the legends of cowboys and news columns, but he admired the allegiance to your craft. How could a book be anything other than words on a paper? He wasn’t sure, but the teasing lilt to your tone made his heart start to thump hard against the walls of his chest anyways. The innuendo you were trying to make was clear but he couldn’t quite wrap his brain around it. It sounded like you were alluding to something sexier but no, there was no way. Smutty books were for bored housewives, not people like you… Right?

Joel’s palms began to sweat as he shoved that racy thought from his mind, heart pounding as he vehemently tried to remind himself that he wasn’t a complete idiot. That at several points in his life he actually had successfully charmed a member of the opposite sex before. Hell, he even had at least one kid that proved it. Nevertheless as Joel stumbled helplessly along, pulled by the invisible string tied around his heart, he was a hopeless mess. You were too beautiful, too smart, too funny, and all the other adjectives he couldn’t quite think of. However, when you suddenly turned away from him and pulled out your keys, he snapped out of it in an instant.

“What are you doing?,” he asked dumbly.

“Driving us to the grocery store? What are YOU doing?,” you shot back, lifting an eyebrow at the sight of him standing at your driver’s side with his own keys in hand.

Joel examined your vehicle, if you could even call it that, with a frown carving deep lines into his face. He wasn’t sure how the hell the thing had passed inspection, much less how you managed to get it to start up every morning without having it explode. And if that wasn’t enough to make him wary, he knew beyond a shadow of doubt that there was no way it had air conditioning. With how dangerous the thing looked and how hot the day was, he wasn’t about to let either of you cook for the sake of chivalry.

“Sweetheart, with all due respect, there ain’t no way I’m getting into that death trap with you,” Joel said, entirely serious despite your surprised laugh.

“What? Don’t be so dramatic Joel, she’s perfectly fine! A few coats of paint and an oil change, and she’d be good as new,” you assured him as you shoved the key into the door.

“An oil change?!,” he exclaimed, “How long has the light been on?”

You shrugged, “Since I got it about a month ago.”

A squawk fell from your lips as Joel tore the keys from your grasp, easily pocketing them before hurrying off towards his own vehicle.

“What the f - hey! Joel idon’tknowyourmiddlename Miller! Get your ass back here and give me my damn keys!,” you called out.

“Nope!,” Joel easily threw over his shoulder as he marched over to his truck, “I’ve got kids darling, can’t be getting blown to bits before they’re off to college!”

Joel walked straight to the passenger’s side, getting there just in time to unlock and open it for the disgruntled woman chasing him. For someone who spent most of their days helping members of the community, you had quite the colorful vocabulary when you were annoyed. He chewed the inside of his cheek as you rounded the corner, trying to keep his amusement at bay as you gave him the most adorable little frown he had ever seen in his life.

“Keys,” you ordered, holding a hand out to him impatiently.

“Get in the truck first,” Joel shot back, unwilling to back down so easily.

If Joel had it his way you’d never drive that death trap again, but it was much too early for him to be volunteering to be your dedicated taxi driver. He wasn’t a complete idiot, he knew that he needed to wait to spring something so bold on a woman that had clearly been burned before. But as you sighed and cocked your hip, not even trying to hide your annoyance from him, he was finding it hard to remember why he needed to tread so carefully.

“Right, let me guess, oh I’m Joel Miller. I’m a tough contractor and we’re all too manly to sit in a passenger seat from time to time, especially if it’s a lady driving us. Give me a fucking break,” you jabbed, laying on the poorest attempt at an accent that he had ever heard.

If it were anyone else, Joel probably would have pointed out that as Texan as he was, he wasn’t a caricature. But with you, he just found it endearing and barked a laugh.

“First of all, you need to work on the accent darling. I ain’t Colonel Sanders,” Joel pointed out.

You glared at him then, steadily losing patience for his antics the longer your keys remained in his pocket. Joel paled, a strike of fear hitting him as he realized you were being dead serious. Sensing the change in your demeanor, he cleared his throat and switched gears, trying to reverse the damage before he ruined the day with his poor attempt at being funny.

“Aw shit honey, you’ve got me all wrong.”

“Do I? Because it seems to me that you still have my keys,” you sassed.

“Here, take ‘em.”

The set of keys Joel shoved in your face made you falter. They were his, not yours, the faded pink and green braided keychain that Sarah had made him years ago making it painstakingly obvious. You didn’t know it, but it was a big deal for him to let you drive his truck, as not even Tommy had been granted that privilege. Joel wasn’t sure why but the thought of seeing you drive his truck made him tingle all over. He imagined you in his usual seat, gripping the worn steering wheel with your far more delicate fingers as you hummed along to the radio and chattered about everything under the sun. His heart stuttered as he thought of it, forcing him to take a deep breath so that he didn’t get too dizzy.

“What? Why?,” you gasped, eyeing the set of keys like they might bite you.

“You heard me baby, take ‘em if you want to drive so damn bad. I just don’t feel like dying a fiery death today because you didn’t think to get an oil change. S’nothing personal,” he said with a shrug.

“Nothing personal, he says. Sure sounds pretty fucking personal, ” you bickered, snatching the keys from his hand so you could cross over to the driver’s side, “You’re lucky that you’re cute Miller, now get in the damn truck.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Joel slid into the seat beside you, happily allowing you to adjust the seat and fiddle with the mirrors a bit before you set off. It was weird being a passenger in his own vehicle but he had to admit, being free to stare at you unabashedly had its perks, like getting to pick up things he hadn’t before. As you drove, going over your game plan for the grocery store like it was some sort of high stakes mission, he noticed that you often took a hand off the wheel to gesture, providing a flourish to all of the points you wanted to emphasize.

Joel watched as you placed both of your hands back on the wheel when you were done speaking, drumming your fingers against cracked leather to the beat of the song that was playing. It was some upbeat hit, nothing that he would usually be caught dead playing in his truck but it didn’t matter. With you in the driver’s seat, Joel couldn’t hear anything. All he could focus on was you, simply existing in a space that he found himself in every single day.

“So, what do you think?,” you prompted, looking at him expectantly.

“What do I think about what?,” Joel sighed dreamily, wishing he could scooch a little closer and press himself against you like some sort of love sick puppy.

You rolled to a stop at a set of lights, turning in your seat to look him over with a furrowed brow.

“About where we go first; bookstore or groceries.”

“Oh, uh… It’s up to you darling, I’m just along for the ride,” he shrugged, relaxing back against his seat as the light turned green.

You sighed, “I guess groceries it is then. We’ll save the fun thing for last, that way it’s like a reward.”

Much to Joel’s embarrassment, the rest of the ride followed a similar trajectory. You would speak to him and he would try to follow along, but his nerves and giddiness would get in the way every single time. Everytime he looked at you, it was like his ears became filled with cotton, rendering him absolutely useless. When you finally turned into the parking lot, he sighed in relief, silently berating himself for being such a bumbling fool in your presence.

Joel wanted to be smooth, to sweet talk you until you were trembling for him as he had the previous day, but he couldn’t. Being alone with you was all encompassing, wiping his brain clean of any thoughts despite his attempts to remain somewhat cognitive. At that moment, with how flustered he was, it was beginning to feel like every bit of progress he had accomplished thus far had been nothing but dumb luck.

Realistically, Joel had never been known for being smooth but he was usually, at the very least, able to talk to women. He thumped his head against the headrest behind him, realizing just how doomed he was as he watched you fix your hair in the mirror. If a suave man was what you wanted, then he was the last person you should be spending your time with. Nonetheless, Joel still popped out of his seat as you cut the engine, desperate to redeem himself as he raced over to open the door for you. He knew that it was an old fashioned move, likely regarded as corny to some, but he liked the way you looked at him when he did it. Plus, being there to help you out meant that he got to hold your hand for a few precious seconds.

“Thank you,” you whispered, adorably flustered as he helped you down.

Joel beamed at you in return, smiling wide as you let his hand linger a bit longer than necessary before dropping it and heading towards the store. It would take some time for you to allow him to keep holding it, but that was okay. He’d wait forever if he had to.

“Okay so, we’ll do produce, bread aisle, eggs, protein, snacks, frozen stuff, and then we’re out. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy,” you sighed, the stress rolling off of you in waves.

Joel watched as you made yourself taller, straightening your spine fully as you walked through the doors with a hard look on your face. If he didn’t know any better, he’d assume you were walking into a prison with how serious you became. It was like you were trying to ward off any inmates before they tried to punk you for being a newbie.

“Is there a reason you’ve got us gearing up for a fight or do you usually prepare for battle every time you leave the house?,” Joel teased as he grabbed a cart and followed closely behind.

“This place is worse than a friggin’ battleground,” you huffed, picking up a bag of peppers to inspect them before you plopped them into the cart, “It’s just so loud in here and people are always shoving me. That’s why I like the market better, it’s lower stakes and a better crowd.”

Joel nodded, trying to think of the last time he had been there. He smiled when remembered it. An eight year old Ellie had begged him to take her and then subsequently dragged him around all the stalls to look at the local art. Everything the artists had talked to her about had been way over his head of course, but he thought it was nice that they took the time to recommend certain paints and canvases to an excited kid. The Miller crew’s trip to the market hadn’t lasted long, as Sarah had quickly gotten bored and started complaining about the heat, but he had enjoyed it until his children started hissing at each other like angry cats. With the bickering between sisters growing steadily in volume, the visit unfortunately had to be cut short before the two made a scene in front of the vendors.

“The market’s nice, I get why you’d rather go there. To be honest with you, I usually get mine delivered,” Joel sighed and shook his head,“There’s way too many familiar faces here and not enough space to run.”

“Sounds like a nightmare.”

It could be, though there were times that Joel loved it. There was something comforting about living your entire life in the same town. Every street, every family, every stream, every nook and cranny had been accounted for in his thirty four years of living in Austin. However, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t escape the people who had watched him grow into the man he was, the same people that undoubtedly remembered every part of his life that he’d rather forget. Sometimes he wanted to drown all of his former selves in a river, snuffing them out so that nobody could remember the things he had done, the things that had been done to him, and everything in between. But what good would that do? Austin was where he had laid down roots, it was where he had raised his kids. There was no leaving it now.

“Can be, but s’not too bad. Most of the looky-loos in this town are harmless, just old people and bored married couples looking to get their drama-fix. I don’t cause much trouble these days anyways so I’m usually left out of it, unless they’re feeling nostalgic,” Joel muttered.

“Wait a second, so does that mean you were the town’s resident bad boy back in the day?,” you gasped.

“Nah, that’s all Tommy. That boy’s got a record that’s probably got our mama spinning in her urn,” he chuckled and shook his head, “But me? Nah, I was just dumb sometimes. It was never anything too crazy.”

“Do I get to know any of the dumb things you did or are you going to make me ask one of the chatty old birds that come into the library?,” you asked playfully, nudging your way into his personal space to reach for a loaf of bread.

Joel swallowed hard as the curve of your ass brushed along his front, gritting his teeth as he felt it brush against his zipper. He prayed you wouldn’t feel him twitch against your backside as you bent over, especially with how thin your shorts were. His face burned as you turned around with an arm full of whole wheat, the knowing look on your face making him squirm. If only you knew just how starved for attention Joel was, or how many times in the last half hour he had thought about ripping those little shorts off and burying his face in between your plush thighs. Perhaps then you would know better than to toy with him in such a public setting.

“Jesus,” Joel whispered, carefully readjusting himself while you turned to throw the bread into the cart.

“Well?”

“Oh, uh…”

“The stupid things you did?,” you graciously reminded him.

Joel cleared his throat, racking his brain for something outrageous enough to quench your curiosity without opening a can of worms. The last thing he needed was to have you go digging through his past before you knew him enough to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Oh, I don’t know darling. Let’s see… Well, there was this one time during my senior year that I streaked a football game for a case of bud light.”

You cackled, “Bud light? Of all the beers, you risk a criminal record for that one? Bleh.”

“Tell me about it,” Joel chuckled, remembering how unsatisfying the room temperature beer had been after the long term grounding his mom had greeted him with when he got home that night.

“I never pegged you for a nudist,” you teased.

He guffawed, “Nudist? I just didn’t have a fake ID yet and Tommy wouldn’t share his.”

“Whatever you say Miller” you giggled, “Any other petty crimes you’d like to admit to?”

“One time I stole the principal's keys and filled his car with cow shit because he wouldn’t let me go to swim meets until I got my grades up,” Joel admitted, wincing as he added, “Thing is, he had already suspended Tommy earlier that day for smoking in the bathroom so uh…”

“They blamed him?!,” you nearly bellowed.

“Quiet down! Yeah, they blamed him,” he groaned, rolling his eyes as you exploded into a fit of giggles, “But don’t you go telling him that sweetheart, that is top secret information. He still hasn’t put it together and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Shit, that’s good,” you panted, clutching your chest as you tried to catch your breath, “Oh my god Joel, that’s hilarious but don’t worry, I won’t tell him. Your secret is safe with me… I mean, unless you start pissing me off.”

“Haha, very funny,” Joel said, rolling his eyes at your teasing.

He watched as you struggled to hide a smile, shifting through one of the freezers for a ridiculous amount of snacks.

“What about you? Were you the rebel or the prom queen?,” Joel asked, trying to imagine a younger, more awkward version of you.

“More like the resident dork,” you said as you slammed yet another load of sugary treats and frozen pizzas into the cart, “It was just me and the other weird kids hanging out in the English teacher’s class during lunch so we could stay out of the way. No crazy stories there I’m afraid. ”

He winced, “Jesus, m’sorry honey. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Meh, it wasn’t too bad. I spent most of my time reading with them during lunch or smoking in the woods behind the school. I had good grades so I was pretty much just waiting out the clock until I could graduate and haul ass to university,” you sighed.

“Well, did you at least get to have a little fun there?,” Joel tried, already regretting his question when you scowled at the bag of fries you were holding.

“Nah, my teens and twenties were both write-offs but that’s fine. Happens to the best of us,” you shrugged, “I’d say my thirties will be better but with how they started, I’m probably shit out of luck on that one. Fuck it, my forties will be my time to shine.”

The back of Joel’s throat burned at that, an uncomfortable feeling settling in his stomach as he imagined you in the worst conditions possible. He hadn't pushed you to divulge anything about your past, not wanting to make you uncomfortable, but being left in the dark was starting to drive him insane. All he knew was what he could see: that you were incredibly jumpy, almost like you were terrified to disappoint him for some reason, and that you consistently prioritized the comfort of others over your own. Joel wasn’t the most perceptive man by any means, but he was more than capable of connecting the dots on that one.

“Forties it is then,” he confirmed, unsure of what else there was for him to say.

You grinned at him, “Promise?”

“Sweetheart, I’ll add on a lifetime if ya let me.”

A pleased noise came from you, the sound of it forcing all of the air from his lungs once again. Joel watched as you tried to compose yourself, practically glowing from the small comment he had made. His heart rate sped up, the heavy thuds shaking his entire being as the words sunk in for him as well. Why did he say that? He had meant it completely, but was it too soon? An excitable hum started beneath his skin, drawing life back into his body as he let himself dream of a future that seemed to be within his grasp for once in his life.

“You’re fucking nuts,” you breathed out, not even trying to hide the way you stared at his lips.

Joel clenched his fists, digging the blunt edges of his fingernails into his palms to keep from closing the distance. It would be so easy to melt into you, to allow himself to indulge in the sweet treat that was being waved in front of his face, but he couldn’t. He wanted the first time he kissed you to be monumental, for it to be something that would sweep you off your feet like you deserved. It could be nothing short of perfection. Which was why when you stepped closer, he looked away, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he tried to think of anything to say that would break the tension.

“Uh,” he started, finding his distraction in the goods you had piled into the cart, “You’re calling me crazy? I’m not the woman who's buying damn near ten boxes of frozen pizza and about a gallon of rocky road. Are you going into hibernation or something?”

“Excuse me, it’s not my fault that your offspring are like black holes. Hell, I’m pretty sure that if I didn’t give them food they’d start chewing on my damn walls. What are you feeding them over there anyways? Air?,” you shot back, a ghost of a smile playing on your lips.

Joel blinked, completely taken aback by your teasing. He knew that sometimes the girls went over for movie nights, which he assumed involved maybe a couple bags of popcorn, and perhaps even a few cans of soda to wash it down - nothing too crazy. He had no idea that you had been actually feeding his kids when he wasn’t around, even buying groceries for when they inevitably came waltzing into your home unannounced. All of the neurons in his brain clashed together as he let that soak in, an instinctual response brewing from somewhere deep inside of him.

“I-I had no idea. Fuck, how long have you been doing that?,” Joel stammered, although he was unsure what a straight answer might do to his poor heart.

“Hmmm, well they came over my first week in town and said they were starving. What was I supposed to do? Not feed them? That’s crazy! Plus,” you added with a shrug, “What can I say? It gets lonely eating dinner by yourself all the time and since you were at work, I figured it would be fine if I fed them. But uh, I can stop if you want.”

Joel’s brain short circuited, making him halt in place in the middle of the aisle. You had fed his girls in the times that he couldn’t, nourishing them as if they were an extension of yourself. Without even being asked to, you had helped his family. He swallowed hard, chest tight as the thought of you with his daughters blurred the edges of his mind, and he found himself barrelling towards you in an instant.

Without thinking about it, Joel threw his arms around you, placing his chin on top of your head so that he could give you a firm squeeze. At first you did nothing except let out a small yelp, going still for a few moments before you slowly started to hug him back. It didn’t matter to him that the two of you were in the middle of the frozen foods section, or that the nosy shoppers stared as they passed by, what mattered was the soft noise you made when he nuzzled top of your head, and the way your hands soon gripped the back of his shirt like you were afraid that he might let go.

“I don’t even know what to say sweetheart. That means the world to me,” he whispered into your hair, pressing a small peck on the side of your head before he pulled back to look at you, “Really, you have no idea.”

“I-I um, it’s nothing Joel. They’re good kids, the best really, and I’d be pretty lonely without them. You shouldn’t even be thanking me, they were the ones doing me a favour by giving me a bit of human contact outside of work,” you answered shakily.

“Sure,” Joel drawled, allowing you space to breathe as your knees started to shake under the heavy weight of his stare, “But thank ya anyways honey, I mean it.”

You shook your head once, turning back towards the task at hand and Joel let you. He was walking on cloud nine, actually allowing his mind to go down that dangerous path filled with hopes and dreams. In that moment Joel decided that no matter what, he was all in. It was insane, committing himself to someone that he barely knew, but he didn’t give two shits. From the moment you stepped out of that bathroom and dropped your towel in front of him, you had wrapped around his heart like a vice, strangling it with every torturous beat. He needed to be yours, which was why he needed to ask before he exploded.

“Are you doing anything later? I was wonderin’ if ya maybe wanted to -”

“Joel? Joel Miller?,” came from behind him, the familiar voice making his face fall.

The world caved in on him in an instant, the walls growing and shrinking as Joel willed himself to turn around. He sighed, of course she would be at the grocery store. It was a Sunday, half the city was probably out and about before their weekends came to a close. He had been stupid, so irredeemably stupid when he agreed to come but in his defence, he had been hypnotized by your sultry gaze and satin skin on display. Joel gulped, visibly shrinking as he turned and finally locked eyes with the elderly woman. His heart stuttered, all of the memories flashing through his mind as he tried to think of what to say to her.

“Well I’ll be damned, I thought that was you! Jesus, how long has it been? I started to think you’d moved away. How’ve ya been sweetie?”

Willa smiled at him, her eyes shining with a maternal kind of love that he didn’t deserve. After everything that had happened Joel hadn’t tried to contact her, not even once, as he had been too scared of what she might say to him. Or worse, what he would say to her. There were brief run-ins when the girls were young, before he had learned to avoid her usual spots, but aside from that he had thankfully managed to steer clear for nearly fifteen years. But at that moment there were no screaming babies for him to hide behind, just a beautiful woman looking terribly confused as she stood by his side.

“Ooou, and who’s this? Tommy never told me you were seeing anyone,” she asked playfully.

Fucking Tommy, Joel thought to himself. Of course he still talked to her, why would his little shit of a brother make anything easy on him?

“Oh, this is um -”

Thankfully you stepped forward, side eyeing him as you gave her your name and shook her hand. Willa asked you something after that, likely about work or when you had gotten to town, but Joel’s mind was elsewhere. He was thinking about that night, about how he had been torn to shreds by an impossible decision. There had only been one answer to her question but it had shamed him to say it, to let go of a piece of himself so that he could focus on being a dad. It had felt like betrayal but even then, as a twenty year old idiot, he had known his answer. Still, knowing that he was right didn’t make it any easier.

“I’m glad to meet one of Joel’s friends, I used to love it when the kids came to play in my yard and I got to meet all the little characters in their lives,” Willa laughed.

The kind squeeze that she gave to Joel’s forearm burned and he had to physically stop himself from jumping back. Stomach acid splashed against the back of his throat, forcing him to swallow a couple times so that he didn’t ruin your sneakers by vomiting all over them. He wondered briefly if the morning had been a dream, if he was really still at home in bed, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t wake himself up.

“Aw, I can imagine. Ellie and Sarah were so cute when they were little, I saw some pictures at Joel’s and I almost died,” you gushed.

“Oh no dear, I actually haven’t had the pleasure of meeting them now that they’re grown. I’m talking about him and T -”

“We actually have to get going Willa but it’s been great seeing you,” Joel cut in, his heart pounding in his ears as he corralled you towards the check out, “But I’ll be sure to give you a call sometime, have a good day!”

With tremors shaking his entire frame, Joel ushered you up to the front. He heard you asking him something but he was gone, splintered across time no matter how hard he tried to stay in the present. Childhood memories flooded his mind, followed by the ridiculousness of his teens and early adulthood, but it was those last few weeks that haunted him the most. How could he have not seen it? It had been right in front of him all along but he was too caught up to understand it at the time.

“We don’t um, we don’t have to go to the bookstore if you don’t want to. I understand if you changed your mind,” you said softly as he moved forward to bag your groceries.

Joel hip checked you when you tried to take one of the bags from him, too out of it to notice that he was being slightly rude.

“That’s probably for the best,” he grunted, already kicking himself for the clipped tone he used.

The way your face fell twisted Joel’s heart, only making him feel more disgusted with himself. For the life of him, he could never understand why he ever thought that this was a good idea. How could he ever think that you might be his future? You were soft and warm, deserving of all the best things that life could give. And Joel? He couldn’t even begin to explain to you why he was upset.

All of the words that Joel knew you wanted to hear died on his tongue, his throat dry and scratchy as he tried to force himself to speak. It was pointless. His vocal chords had been rusting for well over a decade, corroded by years of misuse and heartbreak, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t want to. God, he wanted to tell you so badly that it nearly killed him to watch you walk away from him. Your jaw was set, arms crossed over themselves in an attempt to comfort yourself in the way that he should be able to. It made him want to die.

Joel thought of all the times that he had let women in his life walk away, about the greatest triumphs and failures of his life. Letting Marlene walk away? That had been hard, but necessary. She had never wanted him or Sarah, and he had no intention of forcing her to be someone other than the free spirited disaster that she had always been. But letting Tess walk away from him when she needed him the most? That was a choice that had hung over him like a knife for years, threatening to ruin every beautiful moment in his life. He didn’t want the same to be true about you. Tightening his jaw, he crammed the past back in its little box, stowing it away for later so that he could focus on the present.

- You -

What the hell had just happened?

Moments before Willa had come over to say hi, Joel had been carefree, staring at you with hearts in his eyes as the two of you filled your cart. However, the second he had heard her voice he had turned to stone, the light in his eyes dimming as she hobbled over with a gummy smile that reminded you of a grandmother long since passed. She was extremely kind and seemed ecstatic to see Joel after what you guessed to have been years, but he had been quick to drag you away from her. Was it you? Was it her? You had no idea but based on the way he was angrily chewing on the inside of his cheek as the two of you walked back to the truck, you didn’t dare ask.

The silence on the walk back was unbearable, along with the awkward exchange when you handed Joel the keys so he could drive home. Although it had been fun to drive his truck, you didn’t feel like it anymore. The day had started off so happy and hopeful but for whatever reason, it was now ruined. The context of the exchange between Joel and Willa was lost on you but it still weighed heavy on your heart, as you were reminded once again that he was a stranger.

Although Joel offered it to you when he was done putting the groceries in the back, you ignored the hand that was held out to you and threw yourself up into the seat instead. It was childish but at that moment, you would rather ungraciously flop into the truck than grab a hold of a man that refused to communicate with you. There had been enough of that in your previous relationship. Joel made an annoyed noise as you continued to ignore him, focusing your gaze ahead as he watched you angrily yank on the seatbelt. A beat passed when you were done, one where the tension between you grew thick with confusion and resentment, before he suddenly snapped the door shut.

Stop it, stop it, stop it, you told yourself over and over again as your eyes began to water. It was stupid, you had no claim over any part of Joel’s life. He was under no obligation to tell you anything about his past and it was hypocritical to be mad at him for keeping secrets, especially when you also had things that you had yet to confess. However, as Joel took his time getting into the driver’s seat, you felt yourself grow increasingly impatient with him. His actions had triggered something inside of you, igniting a rage that could burn entire cities to the ground but just as you were about to explode, it was your door - not his - that was whipped open.

“Joel?”

“I was a dick to ya just now,” he said bluntly.

Oh.

Of all the things Joel could have said, that was not something you would have ever predicted. A hush fell over the cab of the truck, the two of you locked in a staring contest as you tried and failed to think of a response. What could you possibly say to that? Sure, Joel had been snippy with you but why did he feel the need to apologize? Nobody had ever done that to you before and although you knew it was a good thing, you couldn’t help but feel a little unnerved by his honesty. It almost felt like him being angry with you would have been easier, or at the very least more familiar.

“Okay,” you tried, twisting in the seat to face him as you asked, “Um, why did you do that?”

“Willa was…,” he groaned and rubbed his face, “She was the mother of someone I was friends with a long time ago. I’m sorry honey, I swear that I never meant to be rude to you or her. It’s just that I wanted today to be about you, not T-…”

Joel looked away then, his jaw working hard as he tried to hold back his own words. Given his cold expression most people would have assumed he was pissed, but you weren’t fooled by the tough guy act. Joel was scared, terrified really, with every muscle in his body bunched up like it was readying for an attack. You understood that kind of fear, had lived with it for so long that it had become comfortable. There was pain buried deep inside of him, trapped beneath years of silence, shame, and seething rage. All of it poured off of him in bitter waves and despite his obvious attempts to speak up, you realized that it would take some time for him to peel all of that back.

“What happened?,” you asked softly.

Joel’s gaze snapped back towards you, eyes ablaze with contempt for a second before he sighed and snuffed it out. Touchy subject, you noted, deciding to leave the question hanging in the air instead of pushing the matter. But the longer he kept quiet, the more he started to resemble a caged animal and without thinking, you laid a hand on his chest and pressed into the skin there in an attempt to ground him. Joel flinched at first but you were undaunted, understanding the fear that tensed his jaw and quickened the heart beating beneath your palms. It took a few more moments before the haunches started to lower, relief replacing terror as he began to realize that it was okay to be vulnerable.

“Died,” Joel said, his voice gruff, “My best friend died and I don’t er… I haven’t talked about it, not yet at least. There wasn’t really any time to talk about it when it happened. I had two baby girls to take care of so…”

“Oh Joel, I’m so sorry,” you sighed, aching from the sadness in his eyes.

“S’alright, I just don’t like to be reminded of it,” he plucked your hand from his chest, gripping it tight as he added, “I’m okay though baby, it was a long time ago anyways.”

“We don’t have to talk about it.”

Joel opened his eyes, his face wide open as he squeezed your fingers again and then laid the hand back over his beating heart. All of the air rushed out of your lungs at the small gesture, heart slamming against the inside of your chest as one of his hands came up to cup the side of your face. He tilted your head a bit, making sure you couldn’t look away from him as he spoke.

“I’m gonna to tell you someday honey, I swear. It’s just hard and I don’t know how to…,” he trailed off, shaking his head at himself, “I need time to figure out how to say it. I’m sorry, I know that that might not be enough for you but I just can’t yet, okay?.”

“Joel,” you whispered, eyes shining as you nuzzled his hand, an act that further softened his features and allowed his shoulder to drop a bit.

“Is that alright?,” Joel asked, his eyes filled with hope and fear.

You nodded and yanked on his arm, giggling at the small oof Joel let out as he fell into the cab. His chest slammed into yours, nearly knocking you back against the seat but you managed to regain your balance by wrapping your arms around him. A hushed groan rumbled in his chest as you pressed him closer, hands rubbing at his back as you squeezed him with all of your might. Usually you would be too scared to be this handsy but with the memory of Joel hugging you in the grocery store still fresh in your mind, you figured it was fine to level the playing field.

“Fuck darling,” he sighed as he wrapped his strong arms around you, happily crushing you against him,“Where the hell did you come from, huh?”

“Mmm, heaven obviously,” you joked, earning a small laugh from him.

Joel pulled away after a while and you let him, already missing the feeling of him against you. He slowly retracted his arms, making sure to brush every inch of skin with his rough palms as he did. A shudder passed through you, causing a sharp pang of lust to further dampen your poor panties. You weren’t sure if that had been his intention but based on the pleased look on his face, it certainly wasn’t an unwelcome development.

“C’mon, enough talking about the past. Let’s get those groceries home before they go bad,” he said with a heavy sigh.

“Oh shit! The groceries!,” you blurted out, trying to shove him out of the cab with all of your might, “Fucking shit, I completely forgot! We need to go before the ice cream melts! ”

“Alright, alright, hold your horses lady. I’m going, just give me a second,” Joel cackled, batting your hands away so that he could stop for a moment and straighten the few errant strands that had been smushed against the sides of your face from the hug.

He grinned at you when he was done and then shut the door, jogging over to his side like he couldn’t wait to slip back into your presence again. Or perhaps that was just you that felt that way, but what did it matter? Joel was soon sitting beside you with his hand clamped down over your left thigh again, his thumb brushing the soft skin there as he drove towards home. Except this time, you reached down and slid your hand into his, holding it in your lap as you looked out the window. You didn’t dare look to see his reaction at first, utterly terrified that he would be sitting there with his jaw set or worse, that he would pull away entirely. But then you felt it, a small squeeze that wordlessly assured you that it was okay, that he liked the feeling of you holding his hand, and you relaxed a bit.

Still, you didn’t look over until Joel was close to home, too shy to stare at him like he had stared at you. However, as he took the final turn onto your block, you had to sneak a peek. The sun framed him perfectly, making his skin glow beautifully under its warmth. He was so handsome, with a striking side profile that made you thank every higher power for strong noses. In truth, Joel Miller was a pretty man, although you held back from telling him that in fear that he would take it poorly. That didn’t make it any less true. He was absolutely beautiful and he was sitting next to you, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips while he let you play with his thick fingers.

By the time you got home, you had mapped out every freckle on Joel’s face, every scar on the hand in yours, every inch of skin that wasn’t covered with clothing. It made you greedy for more. You were almost disappointed when the truck rolled into your driveway and he jumped out so he could sprint over to your side. Once again Joel helped you down, stealing your breath away with the small act before he moved to grab your groceries. Despite your protests, he loaded his arms full of bags, leaving you with nothing but the task of holding the door open for him.

“You’re being ridiculous Joel. I could take at least three of those bags and you’d still have the majority. For the love of God, just let me carry one,” you groaned, watching as he readjusted to squeeze himself through the front door.

“Nope, I’m just fine darling,” he said casually, completely ignoring your attempts at trying to pry one from his grasp.

“Hopeless,” you chuckled, shaking your head at his antics as he clumsily maneuvered his way past all of your living room furniture and into the kitchen.

“Oh definitely sweetheart, but I think ya like it,” Joel threw over his shoulder.

Joel wasn’t wrong, you liked it very much. As you watched him lug all of the groceries into the kitchen, starting to unbag them himself as you leaned against the counter with an amused grin, you realized that he wasn’t the only hopeless fool. Instead of asking you where everything went, he jammed all of the items in the most ridiculous places, so wrapped up in the task that he seemed to forget that you were in the room. And you let him, much too happy to say anything.

“Not sure why I thought this would be a good idea” Joel huffed halfway through, peering at the bag of frozen peas that he was about to jam into the cupboard.

“No shit Sherlock,” you mused, fondness blooming deep in your chest, “What’s the rush? Got some plans that I don’t know about?”

He faltered, “I uh, well yeah actually, I do.”

“Oh,” you said, unable to fully mask the disappointment in your voice as you pushed off the sink, “Shit, I’m sorry Joel. I didn’t realize that I was holding you up, you should have told me! Here, let me take over. All you’re doing is wreaking havoc anyways.”

“Sweetheart, you probably should have taken over about five minutes ago. I have no sweet clue what I’m doing here,” he admitted.

“You don’t say,” you chuckled, grabbing the peas from him so you could shove them in the freezer, “Go, I’m fine here. I wouldn’t want to make you late or anything.”

“Well, my plans, they um… I had hoped that they would involve you if you weren’t too sick of me yet,” Joel ventured, trying to keep his tone light despite the anxiousness you could see weighing him down.

“You made plans for us?,” you asked with a slightly warbly voice.

He nodded solemnly, almost like he was confessing to a crime, “I was gonna go home and grab a few things first but then I thought we could head out. Don’t feel like you have to though, it’s just an idea.”

Was this -? No, it couldn’t be. There was no way Joel would ask you out on a date so casually. It had to be just a social gathering, a nice hang out between friends.

“Okay, well, do I get to know what the plans are? Or am I just supposed to just guess what type of clothes to wear and hope for the best?,” you questioned, earning a laugh from him.

“You’re perfect the way you are darling, don’t change anything unless you want to,” he answered easily, the truth evident in the way his eyes greedily raked over your body.

The outfit you were wearing wasn’t your best work but it had certainly gotten the job done. Every time you caught Joel staring at your breasts or goggling at your ass had reminded you just how easy it was to impress men. Flowy shorts and a tank top, that’s all there was to the outfit and yet, for the entirety of the day he had stared at you like you were wearing a set of lingerie.

“Hmmm, okay. I guess I’m in,” you cooed.

“Well alright then baby,” Joel said sweetly, beaming at you as he turned towards the door, “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

“I don’t have much of a choice now. Thanks to you, I’ve got fucking ice cream melting under my sink and dry pasta in the fridge,” you pointed out, forcing a bark of laughter from him.

Joel raced out the door, the boyish grin on his face making you unreasonably excited. The second you heard the front door shut behind him, you let out a breath and surveyed the disaster, groaning as you realized the damage he had done. You sighed, deciding to leave the best of it and correct only the necessary things; like the milk left on the counter or the cucumber shoved in the freezer. It didn’t take long and once you were done, you sprinted up the stairs, gunning it for your room so you could change into something a bit more tantalizing.

This morning’s outfit had been perfect for the store but with Joel refusing to give you a location for his mystery trip, you refused to be duped into going somewhere unprepared. It was better to be too dressed up than to be embarrassed for the rest of the day. Tearing off your clothes, you dug into the pile of sundresses that you had ripped from the closet earlier, picking up one of your favorites. It was a blue milkmaid dress with a lace bow that sat right in between your breasts, the thin strip of fabric barely managing to hold the girls in. You smiled, the dress was just what you needed if you wanted to make Joel Miller squirm.

After smoothing your hair back into a messy yet stylish updo and re-applying a generous layer of deodorant, you stopped by the mirror to look at yourself. If anything, the outfit was a little much. The dress teetered on the edge being a tad too sexy from the cleavage alone, but the fact that the ends of your dress went below your knees helped even it out. Despite how bold it might be, as you slipped on a pair of shoes and drifted down the hallway, you knew that your intended audience would love it.

Excitement rushed through you as Joel called your name from downstairs, this time forgoing the knock to push the front door open and make himself at home in your space again. Although an open door policy had not been your original plan for living in Austin, you were more than willing to make an exception for the Miller family. The girls had taken to it almost immediately, even going as far as to wander upstairs if they couldn’t find you on the first floor, and the thought of Joel someday being comfortable enough to do the same sent a thrill down your spine.

“Coming!,” you called out, feeling like a giddy schoolgirl as you raced down the stairs

Joel waited for you at the bottom of the staircase, a fresh shirt hugging him in all the right places and his curls finally released from the confines of a hat. He looked good, so good that you felt all the confidence the dress had bestowed upon you slipping away. Instead of gliding over to him like the kind of sultry succubus you were attempting to emulate, you nearly tripped over your own feet trying to get to him, the desperation to be near him shining through in an instant. But if he noticed, he didn’t say a word, as he was too wrapped up in his own desire to fault you for being flustered.

“Wow, you look… Wow,” Joel breathed, stepping closer so he could get a good look at you.

“A good wow?,” you softly ventured.

“Yeah darling, a very good wow,” he chuckled, his eyes never once leaving that little bow that strained against the weight of your breasts with every breath.

The dress wasn’t playing fair, you knew that, but it was completely necessary. The patience Joel Miller possessed was commendable, almost painfully so, and you intended to shatter it if it was the last thing you did. You were absolutely famished, growing ever more desperate with each soft touch or brief glance. In order to protect your own sanity, it was time for you to pull out the big guns.

“Good,” you said sweetly, surprising him by taking his hand, “Now, where to next handsome?”

Joel ushered you back into the truck without another word, once again holding the door for you like the gentleman he was. He was more jumpy than usual as he pulled out of the neighbourhood, a slightly panicked look on his face as he drove, and so you did the only thing you could think of. Carefully, you pried one of his hands off of the steering wheel, gently leading it back down to your lap so you could hold it as he drove.

“Thank ya darling,” Joel sighed, relaxing slightly against the seat as he squeezed your fingers.

You hummed, granting him a small smile as you turned your attention to the window. It felt so natural to have Joel’s steady presence at your side, the warmth of his palm making you tingle and his scent invading all of your senses. But when you looked over to see if he was savoring the innocent touch like you were, you noticed that he had sunk back into his own worries, grinding his teeth together with a force that would undoubtedly give him a migraine later. With a sigh, you lifted the cup holder and scooched across the bench, determined to distract him as you pressed into his side.

“What are ya - oh,” Joel halted, his voice laden with shock as you maneuvered his arm so that it could drape over your shoulders.

“Relax Joel, you’ve already made it this far. It’s not like I’m gonna run off screaming, you’re my only way home,” you teased.

“Roger that honey,” he chuckled, the tension breaking as he pressed you so close to his chest that you could hear his heart steadily thumping in your ear.

Although the day was warm, you didn’t mind being so close to Joel. The AC leveled the playing field quite a bit, making the heat of his skin welcoming as you lounged against him. Before long you couldn’t even pay attention to the road anymore, too relaxed to truly give a damn about where he was taking you. As long as Joel stayed as he was, radiating an unreasonable amount of heat that brought you to the brink of unconsciousness, he could take you across state lines for all you cared. He was just so cozy, like falling asleep on a heated blanket, and you couldn’t help but doze off despite your best efforts to stay awake.

“We’re here honey,” Joel whispered after some time, his mustache bristling against the shell of your ear.

“Mmmphf?,” you hummed, yawning as you peeled yourself away from him and looked out the window.

Joel had brought you into some sort of field, although he had parked a long way away from any structure or road. The sun touched every tree, every patch of flowers, and every soft patch of grass, illuminating the entirety of the property in a way that made it look like a painting. Your mouth popped open, a shock running through you as you watched a set of squirrels chase each other into the wooded area up ahead.

There was a clear path near the entryway of the woods, undoubtedly leading towards whatever hidden treasure Joel was bringing you to. It was funny. If any other man would have brought you out to the middle of nowhere and asked you to walk down a spooky looking trail with him, you would have ran away as fast as you could. But with Joel, you felt perfectly at ease. Ignoring all of the self preservation skills you had earned from a lifetime of being a woman, you hopped out of the truck and grabbed his free hand, walking straight into the forest with a smile on your face

“What is this place?,” you questioned, eyeing some of the more overgrown parts of the path.

“This is my parent’s place,” Joel said as he held one of the branches back for you, “Or it was. I don’t know. They’re both gone, so I suppose it’s mine and Tommy’s now but neither of us really use it. He likes being in town and I don’t have the time to fix the house up quite yet, someday though.”

Remembering the sprawling fields and how beautiful the lake in the distance looked, you were slightly jealous. The property was gorgeous, with the added bonus of being away from the hustle and bustle of town. Looking over the terrain, you couldn’t help but feel sad that neither of the brothers had taken the property for themselves. The place had once been loved by the Miller family and now it was all but forgotten. Even the trail Joel led you down showed signs of neglect, crowded by years of accumulated debris and overgrown brush. More than a few times he had to push back the branches before they smacked you in the face, or point out fallen logs for you to jump over. Still, traces of the family remained.

There was the bench that someone had made out of a log near the entrance, along with a forgotten treehouse about halfway through with the faded words - Joel’s Clubhouse, Stay Out Tommy! - emblazoned onto the side. Even more interesting was the tree that had T.M. + A.J. 4-Ever carved into the side of it, with a wonky heart around it that made you laugh. Everywhere you looked, the ghosts of the people who had previously loved this spot lingered, yet you still couldn’t figure out why it had been abandoned.

“Jesus, I’m sorry honey. It wasn’t this bad the last time I was up here,” Joel swore, catching you before you had a chance to stumble over a rock.

“And when was that?,” you huffed as a branch nearly wacked you in the face.

He scratched the back of his head, looking incredibly guilty as he admitted, “Well, the girls were still in elementary so...”

“So, a long time then?,” you deadpanned.

“Shit, guess so. I’m sorry honey. Can you just hold on just a little longer? Please, we’re almost there. I promise that it’ll be worth it.”

Sighing, you nodded and grabbed the hand outstretched to you, allowing Joel to lead you the rest of the way. There were a few more stumbles, along with quite a few swears that were knocked loose when a branch nicked you or a root threatened to take you both down but finally, you made it. He turned as he led you out into the clearing, a nervous smile on his face as you took it all in.

“What d’ya think?,” Joel asked.

“Joel, I don’t even know what to say. This is - holy shit,” you breathed.

The first thing that caught your eye was the waterfall that pounded against the rocks, along with the deep swimming pole that rested twenty feet below, right next to where the trail ended. There was a moss-ridden rope swing hanging off of one of the many trees on the other side, swaying back and forth like it was begging to be used. You smiled, imagining a much younger version of Joel spending his summers swimming with his friends and fishing for trout. Everything was so rich and green, with pops of bright colors coming in the form of the perfectly placed flowers that sprinkled the usual foliage.

“Who planted the flowers?,” you mused, bending over to get a whiff of the marigolds.

“Our mama did. She did most of them before I was born, but I helped her with a patch or two when Tommy was still in diapers,” Joel said from behind you, his voice soft as he reminisced, “She loved it here, we all did.”

There was something so intimate about being brought to a place that clearly held so much meaning to his family. It was like he was trying to show you a part of himself that he couldn’t possibly explain with words. He had brought you to his parent’s place to show you the Joel Miller who had existed before he was a parent, before he had a past that weighed him down. The land on which you stood had been home to the boy who was carefree and young, not the man who everyone turned to. To be trusted with such a place was an honour that was not lost upon you.

“This place is,” you cleared your throat, thankful that you were facing the water so that he couldn’t see you wipe away tears, “This place is amazing Joel, truly. I don’t really know what to say except - thank you for bringing me here. I love it.”

With that, you turned back towards him, shocked to find him no longer behind you. Instead, Joel was sitting on a blanket he had sprawled along the side of the rushing waters, looking a bit sheepish as your mouth popped open. There were wrapped sandwiches, fruit, juice boxes, and even a bag of chips laid out against the thick fabric. You stared at the feast, trying to understand why your heart was beating so hard that it shook your ribcage. It was just food and yet, as your eyes locked with Joel’s, it became clear that it was much more than that.

“Holy shit,” you gasped, but he was undeterred.

“I know that this is a bit backwards, especially with how we met but um, I thought we could have dinner?,” Joel proposed, starting to twitch as he continued, “I wasn’t sure what you liked so I kept it simple but we could always go somewhere else if this wasn’t - if you didn’t want -”

“This is - You want me t-,” you cut in, taking a shaky step closer, “Joel, is this a date? Did you bring me out here for a date?”

“If you don’t w -”

The panic set in, ensuring that whatever Joel was about to say would be trampled by the word vomit that spewed out of your mouth.

“- Because you should really let a girl know if you’re going to take her on a date so that she can prepare properly. I didn’t even shave my legs Joel! And the dress is just - ugh, why would you do this to me?,” you exclaimed, stomach turning as you looked down at your outfit.

Seconds ago it had been cute and sexy but with the term date hanging over you, it suddenly felt like you were wearing rags. Why didn’t you try harder? An all out breakdown was on the way, your chest burning as you struggled to take in air. You tried to focus on the positive, on the fact that you now had indisputable evidence that Joel felt the same way but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t figure out how to get your lungs to cooperate. In and out, that’s all there was to it and yet just as you thought that you might collapse, Joel’s hands gripped the sides of your face and forced you to look up at him.

“Hey, hey, look at me baby. It’s okay, m’here, just breathe,” Joel cooed, his face warped yet still beautiful in your blurred vision.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t know why I-”

“Shh, enough of that sweet girl. There ain’t nothing to be sorry for, just breathe with me,” he murmured as one of his hands wandered down to wrap around your waist, the other one burying itself in your hair, “That’s it, just like that.”

The closer Joel pulled you, the easier it was to breathe and so you leaned into him with all of your might. The warmth radiating off of him trickled into you, soothing all of the nerves that made you shake and shiver every time you looked at the impromptu picnic. All it took was a couple seconds of breathing him in before you finally relaxed, too intoxicated by the weight of his hands on you and the smell of him to be terrified.

“Listen to be honey,” he murmured, pulling back to look you in the eye, “I brought you here because it’s one of my favorite places and I figured that with all those plants you’ve got in the front window, you’d probably like it too.”

“I do like it Joel, it’s just -”

“Hush, just let me say something first. Then you can go back to freaking out, okay?,” he tried.

“Okay,” you whispered.

“This is all I want tonight; just me and you enjoying this place. It doesn’t have to be a date if you don’t want it to be. All I want is to spend time with you, but we can leave if you don’t like it. You’re in control here baby,” Joel said earnestly as he pushed the stray hairs from your face.

Joel waited for a response, his face neutral despite the panic you knew he was undoubtedly drowning in. You had to hand it to him, the man had the patience of a saint. If it were you who had put yourself out of the line, you would be on the verge of a heart attack. Not that your current position was much better. The answer you wanted to give him was yet - Jesus fucking Christ yes please, oh my god - but you were stuck. There was so much you hadn’t told him about your past, about the skeletons locked inside of your closet, but you weren’t sure if you were ready to talk about it yet. Did Joel deserve a partner like that? And after everything you had been through, did you truly want to carry the guilt that would come from hurting a good man?

“But, you don’t know me. What if you get to know me and…,” you stumbled on the words, trying to think of a way to make him understand your dilemma without divulging anything.

“S’not possible baby,” Joel said with a tormented look on his face, as if the very thought of disliking anything about you physically pained him.

Although you weren’t sure that you believed him, your resistance was weak. Plus, Joel Miller was much more charming than he gave himself credit for.

“Okay and um… If I said that I did want it to be a date? What then?,” you asked.

“Well, then we should probably go sit down and eat then,” he said with a wry grin.

Was it fair? No, but Joel was kind and handsome, the complete opposite of the men in your life thus far. In the wake of your crumbling marriage and the embarrassment of having to start again, you decided that it was okay for you to be selfish for once. So you let Joel lead you back towards the blanket, smiling as he helped you sit down and took his spot at your side. He handed you one of the sandwiches and a juice box, grinning as he grabbed his own and began to unfold the wax paper. You did the same and although you were still wary of the situation, there was a small part of you that was elated.

The date served as concrete proof that you weren’t completely insane, that Joel also felt the connection between you that only grew stronger with each passing day. He wanted you. No matter how terrible the future may be, or how badly he might take it when you finally opened up to him, in that moment you were wanted. As stupid as that small victory was, you decided to take the win and chomped down on the delicious sandwich that he had made for you.

“Jesus Joel, this is good,” you hummed, reveling in the simple yet satisfying blend of flavours.

“It’s just a club,” Joel laughed, his voice muffled around the ginormous bite he had taken.

“Mmm, I guess,” you granted him, “But I suck at cooking so anything other than frozen food or take out is a godsend.”

He raised his brows, unable to keep the edges of his mouth from turning downwards.

You sighed, “Just say it.”

“Why the hell did we just buy nearly half the grocery store then?,” Joel chuckled, getting a playful shove from you in return.

“I said that I suck at cooking, not that I don’t. A girl’s gotta eat something other than delivery or frozen pizza every so often,” you huffed, rolling your eyes at his grunt of disapproval, “Besides, I have a personal chef whenever Sarah comes over. That girl can make a mean stir fry.”

“Guess I’ll have to come cook for ya too, can’t have my girl eating garbage all the time just because she won’t buy a damn cook book,” he grumbled.

“I’d like that,” you whispered, his words not lost on you in the slightest.

Joel grinned at that, the longing in his eyes leaving you absolutely breathless. Warm pools of melted chocolate looked you up and down, a happy sigh coming from him in lieu of a verbal response. His shoulder bumped against yours, the light in his eyes still present even as you both went back to your sandwiches.

“So, is this the part where I’m supposed to tell you my favorite color?,” you asked after a while, not used to the silence between you.

He shrugged, “Dunno, you can if you want to.”

“Oh come on, you’re telling me that Joel Miller - the resident DILF of all of the parent/teacher conferences in Austin - does not know how to small-talk on a first date?,” you teased.

Joel’s ears grew red, a bashful look on his face as he ran his fingers through his hair.

“I don’t know what a DILF is, but no? To be honest with ya honey, I ain’t been on a real date for a couple of years. Kinda flying by the seat of my pants right now,” he admitted.

“Years?,” you exclaimed, convinced that you were hearing him wrong, “

He shrugged, “I mean, I’ve gone on dates but nothing really comes of it. Work is always busy and I’ve got the girls. I don’t like to bring the women I see around them, s’not right to introduce them to someone who doesn’t plan on being around for long.”

“But I’ve met the girls,” you pointed out, unable to keep the satisfied smirk from your face.

He rolled his eyes, “Yeah, but you’re different.”

“Why’s that?,” you chirped.

“Because I actually like spending time with ya,” Joel responded, the truth of his words evident in the way he blushed and rubbed the back of his neck.

A small giggle fell from your lips, forcing you to clamp a hand over your mouth to keep it in. Joel chuckled along, looking bashful as you tried to get it together.

“What um… What about you darling? I bet you’ve got a whole line of fellas trying to take ya out on the town,” he ventured.

It was like someone had dumped cold water over you, freezing all of your veins and numbing the tips of your fingers. The smile on your face vanished, along with the easy going vibe in the air. For a portion of a second, you had actually forgotten about the man you tried so hard not to name, the one that had yet to send the divorce papers that would close that chapter of your life for good.

It was Joel you felt bad for. He had put in so much effort for someone that was unfortunately, still legally married. How were you supposed to tell Joel about Peter? Would he understand or would he be livid? Fear prickled your skin the longer you stayed silent, spreading goosebumps all throughout your body as you imagined the worse. Although it seemed unlikely that Joel would yell at you, calling you a slut before he abandoned you in the middle of nowhere, you didn’t trust him enough yet to completely discount the idea.

“Um, no. I haven’t been on a date in a couple years actually,” you admitted, bypassing the complicated backstory in exchange for a simpler response.

It wasn’t technically a lie, Peter hadn’t taken you out for anything even remotely resembling a date in years. To him, all of those work sponsored functions and snobby parties were the same thing, regardless of the fact that you hated them with a passion.

“Hm, well… I guess we’re in the same boat then baby,” Joel said kindly, pressing his side into your in a way that both soothed and excited you.

“Mmm hmm.”

A silence fell over the two of you, nothing but the sounds of the wind, the birds, and the water as you both returned to the feast. After the awkward question, neither one of you felt the overwhelming urge to fill the silence but every so often, an off handed question would come up about favorite foods or music, the hobbies you had as a kid, or a spirited debate about whether pineapple deserved a spot on pizza or not. It was perfectly uncomplicated, a good introduction to what you hoped would be the first of many dates. Too bad you had your own awkward question that you had been dying to ask.

“Joel, can I ask you something?,” you ventured cautiously, not wanting to ruin the mood.

“Course,” he answered around another humongous mouthful of food.

“I um… I know that you don’t know anything about Ellie’s parents,” you began slowly, wincing as his eyes darkened, “But what about Sarah? She clearly had a mom at some point, unless you’re telling me that two babies got left at your jobsite within the span of a few months.”

Joel looked away from you for a moment, sighing as he watched the flies dance along top of the river. He didn’t look angry, or particularly heart broken either, just unbelievably exhausted at the mere thought of having to speak about the mystery woman. You wondered why. Just one mention of her and the liveliness had drained from his eyes.

“Sarah’s mom was my high school girlfriend, but we were on and off after we graduated,” Joel started, shaking his head as he continued, “It was all very dramatic and young. We were always trying to make it work, but it was pointless. Her and I were complete opposites.”

“Okay,” you said slowly, “But what happened?”

“During one of our ‘on’ periods, I left to go do some shows in Houston. When I came back she was gone, but that was pretty usual for Marlene. She couldn’t stay still for long and to be completely honest with ya, I wasn’t much of a catch those days,” he sighed.

You snored, “I highly doubt that Joel.”

“It’s true,” Joel confessed, waving off your attempts at comforting him, “S’alright sweetheart, I’m a grown man now. I can admit that I was a piece of shit when I was nineteen, who isn’t? I was a mess, I drank too much, and all I really cared about was playing music. That’s not the type of guy you fall for.”

You nodded, not entirely understanding his predicament but empathizing nonetheless.

“Anyways, she left and I thought I was off the hook again…,” he huffed, rubbing his face as he added, “Even started seeing someone new and then nine months later, boom! Marlene shows up to the house with a baby - my baby - I damn near had a stroke.”

A beat passed and you didn’t move to fill the silence, giving Joel time to collect himself before he continued.

“We got back together for a bit and it was okay. Sarah deserved stable parents, that’s what we decided early on, but then she was born early and things got even more complicated. I couldn’t even hold her for weeks and Marlene, she…,” Joel winced, trailing off as it became too much.

“It’s okay Joel,” you whispered as you reached out and squeezed his harm.

He gave you a sad smile and you nodded, wordlessly urging him to continue.

“The fighting started again but this time it was so much worse. She kept pulling back and I just couldn’t understand why,” he shook his head, “I should’ve seen it coming, but I was too busy being scared. Then one day I came home and she was gone again. No note, not for me or for our little girl, nothing. I haven’t seen her since.”

The bitterness laced into Joel’s tone was nothing you had heard before but you didn’t blame him. Abandoning him was one thing, but abandoning a sick infant without leaving so much as an explanation was something else altogether. You didn’t want to judge Marlene too harshly, knowing all too well how much different being a mother was and how many women failed miserably when they fell into the role by accident. But it was hard not to, especially with how good natured you knew her ex partner to be, or how thoughtful the daughter that she’d never know was. It might have been the right choice for her to leave, but that didn’t mean her decision was harmless.

“I’m sorry Joel, that… Well, that fucking sucks,” you conceded, unable to think a more eloquent way of putting it.

Joel tipped his head back and laughed, the sound of it bouncing off of the trees. His whole body shook, the boisterous cackling only getting worse each time he tried to speak. It was only after the third attempt that he stopped trying altogether and let himself fall apart, which earned a few awkward giggles from you too as he let himself lose it.

“Jesus, I ain’t never had someone put it like that. That fucking sucks,” he repeated, cackling as he wiped the tears from his eyes, “People usually just apologize and change the subject. You’re something else baby, you know that right?”

“What can I say? I aim to impress,” you tried, relaxing as the sadness in his eyes faded away.

Joel’s eyes dragged across you for a moment, the lazy smile on his face as his laughter petered off. Even though the sun was still high in the sky, it was him that brightened up every aspect of your day. You blinked when he laid against the blanket and patted his side, beckoning you to come join him. A moment passed where you just stared at him, debating whether or not he was joking until a challenging look from him made you slide down to his level. The noise you let out when Joel pulled you into his side, adjusting you so that your head was resting against your chest, was mortifying but he didn’t say a word. Instead you let him direct your attention upwards, to where the trees swayed and the golden rays peaked in through dense foliage.

“Do I get to ask a personal question now?,” he asked after a while, drawing soothing circles on your back.

“Go for it cowboy,” you mumbled, nuzzling his side as you let his proximity slowly draw you back into a terribly needed nap.

“What happened before you came here? I don’t want to pry, but I figured that since we’re laying all of our cards on the table, now’s as good a time as any,” he suggested.

That got your attention. Joel squeezed you a bit tighter when you tensed, using the effect he so clearly had on you to ease your worries. No matter how badly you wanted to pull away, to petulantly tell him off for asking before you fled from the forest like a wounded animal, you couldn’t. His hands were magic, brushing over every inch of strained muscle in your back before they were forced to relax. He was gentle in his attentions, unendingly soft for you as you tried to open a door for him, and you hugged him harder in thanks. When all the fear had drifted away, you sighed, realizing that he was right. You would have to tell him something about yourself at some point.

“I found my husband of eight years fucking his research assistant in our bed but,” you sighed, pushing past the shame to admit, “Even before that, he had humiliated me for years. Then one day I woke up and I just couldn’t do it anymore, so I left. I bought the first place I could find and then hauled ass the second that the coast was clear.”

“What a fucking asshole,” Joel spat, the rage he felt practically vibrating under his skin.

There was some sick, twisted part of you that hoped Peter would have the balls to show his face in town. The thought of watching as Joel knocked him flat on his ass, just as he did to the last man that disrespected you, was embarrassingly attractive. It spoke to a darker, base instinct that screamed at you to climb the strongest, most caring protector like a tree.

“Yeah well, I guess I got the last word anyways. He gets to try to save face with all of his snobby friends and I get my freedom,” you muttered as you tried to look on the bright side, “It’s not like I had much to leave behind anyways, I had no friends and the stuff in the apartment was his.”

“Ten years is a long time,” he remarked as his hand rubbed lazy circles onto your back.

Ten years was practically a lifetime, especially when you were locked in hell for the majority of it. That being said, you didn’t want Joel’s pity, or anyone else’s for that matter. Peter hadn’t hurt you physically, but he had chipped away at your confidence and made it so that you couldn’t perceive yourself without his approval. That sort of mind control took years to break and luckily, you had snapped out of it before you popped out one of his squalling babies. You took pride in that, in refusing to become the perfect little wife he wanted you to be. Peter had lost and despite the pain he had caused, you were stronger for it.

“It is, but I’m,” you stopped, propping yourself so you could look him in the eye as you added, “I’m free now Joel. I left him with everything - the apartment, the cars, the money. Hell, I even left all of the jewelry he had bought me. Peter can take everything, just so long as he signs.”

“Wait, he hasn’t signed the divorce papers yet?,” he asked, a line forming between his brows.

A jolt of fear rushed through you at the concern in Joel’s voice. You hadn’t meant to say that, it just popped out. Unsure of what he was going to say, you nodded back to him, too scared to fully explain the situation. No matter what any legal system said, as far as you were concerned, Peter was not your husband anymore. He had betrayed you time and time again, breaking his vows to you for who knows how long. How could a man like that possibly be your spouse?

“For fuck’s sake,” Joel sighed, his tone making you tense for a split second before he added, “At this point, it’s the least that the asshole can do. Want me to talk to him?

A surprised laugh spilled from your lips, pushing out all fears about the past being an issue in an instant. Joel cocked one of his eyebrows at you as you cackled, entirely serious about the ominous threat against your ex.

“What? I’m serious honey. I could make it sign it,” he solemnly swore.

“Oh I don’t doubt it Miller,” you granted him, smiling down at your ridiculous saviour, “But I’ve got it handled. Peter doesn’t scare me anymore, he’s just a miserable asshole.”

“I’m sorry, you deserve better than that baby, so much better,” Joel said after a bit, eyes blazing with an intensity that made you ache.

“I know that now,” you agreed, smiling at him despite everything, “Feel like running away yet Miller? I probably should have told you all of that before I agreed to this but saying that I’m a soon-to-be divorcee doesn’t exactly sound very sexy.”

“Nah, I don’t scare easy,” Joel chuckled and shook his head, “And divorcee? Please, I’m a single dad of two teenage girls. That ain’t nothin.”

“We’re a good match then I guess,” you giggled, the weight of the world lifted from your chest with that simple assurance.

Joel didn’t care about your past, nor did he get angry with you for not telling him about the divorce papers he had yet to sign. By all accounts that was a win and it deserved a celebration. You leaned back down, melting against him once more so that you could watch the trees sway. With a full belly and the weight of the world off your shoulders, you both relaxed a little easier. A layer of sweat soon formed between the two of you, the warmth of the day slowly becoming stifling. Neither of you moved, unwilling to break the contact that you both desperately needed despite the heat. The longer you laid together, the hotter it became, until an idea suddenly popped into your head.

“We should go swimming,” you piped up, making him jolt as you sat up.

“What? We can’t sweetheart, I don’t uh… I didn’t bring anything for us to wear,” Joel said slowly, the confusion clear on his face as you started taking off your shoes.

You shrugged, “Pretty sure you’ve got a pair of underpants on that work just fine if you need them that bad.”

Before Joel could answer, you stood up and tugged at the dress, letting it fall to the ground so you could step out of it. The panties you wore were red and satiny, with tiny strips of lace around the edges that scratched at your sensitive skin. They were certainly not the looser, more comfortable pair you had worn to the grocery store, and you thanked your past self for thinking ahead. Your breasts were bare, bra long since forgotten at home in order to make the bust of your dress work. A pinched groan came from behind you and you grinned, taking your sweet time as you turned towards him. Joel’s mouth fell open as he caught sight of your bare chest, his usual scowl quickly morphing into pure shock.

“W-What are you doing baby? You don��t um - you don’t have on…,” he trailed off, his voice unusually high as you toyed with the edge of your panties.

“I can’t wear a bra in the dress or the straps will show. Why? Do you want me to put it back on?,” you asked with a cheeky grin.

The power you felt from watching Joel shake his head, floundering as your thumbs hooked into the lace edges, was addictive. His throat bobbed around an audible gulp and you could tell he was struggling to form words. Nobody had ever gazed upon you so reverently, so ravenously, and it filled you with pride. With him looking at you like you were a goddess, licking his lips as he scrutinized every inch of you, shame had no leg to stand on. His gaze made you feel sexy and confident, which was why you pushed all reservations aside and let the last bit of satiny fabric fall to the ground.

“Sweet Jesus,” Joel whispered, his fists clenching and unclenching the blanket below him.

“C’mon Miller, don’t act like you haven’t seen it all before. Now get up and let’s go swimming,” you urged him, giving him a wink as you turned and rushed towards the water, “Unless you’re chicken!”

The cold water welcomed you, acting as the perfect balm to your overheated skin. All of the heat that had built up since that morning was leached from your body, bubbles bursting from your mouth as you sighed in relief from the bottom of the pool. You blinked up at the surface, allowing your feet to dig into the mud a second longer to enjoy the silence. A small part of you wanted to remain at the bottom, allowing yourself to enjoy the cold and the quiet, but you decided against it. Being yanked out of the water by Joel because he thought you were drowning didn’t exactly scream sexy. With that realization, you released the stale air in your lungs, pushing off the bottom and as you swam to the surface.

Coming up felt like being reborn, with all of the sweat and the worries being washed clean from your sticky skin the second your head breached the surface. Given the heavy talk the two of you just had, you wanted nothing more than for Joel to experience it too. However, as you caught a glimpse of him still on the shore, his shirt and pants off but his hands hesitantly resting on the waistband of his boxers, you could see the reservations he had.

“Are you gonna make me swim all by myself?,” you called out, smiling as he rolled his eyes at you.

He sighed and shook his head, “I’m coming baby, I just uh… I don’t… Do you want me to…?”

The things that you would do to have Joel pull those thin boxer shorts down were unimaginable, not that you needed him to really. Even from where you were, the outline alone was impressive and if that didn’t make you want to start begging for it, the man himself was built like a Greek god. He was pure muscle, with even the softest parts of him blessed with an undeniable strength hiding underneath. A smattering of chest hair caught your attention, along with an equally enticing trail below his belly button that begged to be traced with your tongue. You shook your head, banishing all of the filthy thoughts about him that plagued you. If Joel was feeling uncomfortable, that needed to be addressed before your shameless lust.

“Joel, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Keep them on if it makes you more comfortable but just know,” you narrowed your eyes, shifting into a playful tone that caught his attention, “I can see him anyways, so it really doesn’t make a difference.”

Joel’s mouth fell open, his gaze snapping downwards so he could see for himself. The redness on his ears crept down his neck, flooding his face as he realized how exposed he was. He moved to cup himself but then stopped, the gears in his head turning as he weighed his options.

“Fuck it,” Joel muttered as he ripped the shorts clean off his legs.

A pleased smile graced your lips as the grey fabric hit the ground, a dull ache starting between your thighs with Joel’s entire body on complete display. Immediately your sights zeroed in on his most intimate area. Even soft, Joel’s dick was impressive; long and thick, with a slight curve to it that you knew would rub against all the right places. The veins on the side of it were prominent, with a trimmed bush at the bottom that surprised you. For some reason, you had envisioned him as an undiscovered forest type of guy but with some of the foliage cleared, the possibilities were endless.

“Quit staring at it honey,” Joel chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck as you continued to blatantly stare at his cock.

How were you supposed to do that when he was walking towards the water’s edge, his cock bouncing against his leg with every step? It was practically waving at you.

“Hmmm, just making things even Miller. Pretty sure you stared at my tits for a full five minutes the first time we went,” you purred.

“I’m just a man darling. Y’cant expect me to look away when I’ve got such a pretty little thing buck naked in front of me, not even trying to pick up her damn towel,” he shot back huskily.

You didn’t answer, just let out a hum as your eyes pulled away from his crotch to take in Joel in his entirety. He looked like a painting of some sort, gloriously naked and surrounded by nothing but vibrant foliage, the sun beaming down on him in a way that made his skin glow. Although you had never been one for photography, you suddenly wished that you had a camera so that you could capture him in that moment - if anything just to show him how beautiful he was.

“I can’t believe you’ve got me doing this shit. Too old to be skinny dipping,” he grumbled half heartedly, rubbing at the stubble along his jaw.

“Oh come on, don’t be such a pussy Joel. Jump!,” you hollered, kicking your feet until water splashed the lower half of him.

A pinched groan came from Joel, along with a downright theatrical eye roll, but it worked. He leapt forward, crashing into the water and sending a massive wave your way. A wall of water slammed into your face, nearly pulling you under from the sheer force of it, but you just barely managed to keep your head up. That is, until a hand gripped your calf and dragged you under.

A startled scream was lost under the surface, along with a half assed punch at the assailant who had already released you and swam away. You tried to go after him but the water slowed you down, forcing you to come up for air so that you didn’t drown.

“What the hell? You scared the shit out of me, you asshole,” you cried out as you reached the surface, faltering when you caught his playful grin.

“Aw sweet girl, did I scare ya?,” Joel cooed, drifting closer towards you so he could stand.

You rolled your eyes, “Shut up.”

Joel laughed and so did you, eyes locked as you both floated closer together. He was like a magnet, drawing you in with his big brown eyes and the way they kept flicking down to your lips. The fact that he was naked was of little concern to you. All you could focus on was the shiver that went up your spine as he stepped further into your space.

“C’mere,” Joel mumbled, beckoning you closer with an outstretched hand.

There was no hesitation when you took it, just a happy little sigh as he held you up, allowing you to relax and stop treading water. Joel guided your hands to rest on his shoulders, allowing you to use him like a buoy as his frame held strong against the gentle current. He dropped his hands back into the water once you were secure, the only point of contact being you clutching his shoulders, although you could sense his restraint getting shakier by the second. All he needed was a push.

Joel’s nostrils flared as you wrapped your legs around his waist, greedily anchoring yourself to the front of him. His cock pressed into your weeping slit and you gasped, feeling every inch of him against you. He grunted, twitching to life between your thighs as he tried to still your swaying hips.

“Shit, I don’t think ya wanna do that darling. Ha - fuck - you’re gonna make me- ,” he cussed, gritting his teeth so hard that you felt the muscles jump under your palms as you cupped his face.

“I think that it’s exactly what I wanna do cowboy,” you whispered, leaning in so you could press a line of kisses up the side of his neck, “Unless you want to make a move for once. So far, it’s just been me.”

It was like you had triggered an activation code in a sleeper agent. Joel’s entire demeanor shifted, the grip on your hips getting tighter as he dug his fingers into the fat. A tiny heartbeat warmed the space between your legs, forcing you to worry the skin along the underside of his jaw a bit harder to keep from moaning out loud. He hissed as your teeth dug into his skin, one of his hands coming up to dig into your hair and yank you backwards. You blinked at him, the feeling of his skin against yours making you dizzy.

“Pretty girl,” Joel cooed.

The way he brushed his nose against yours, his lips inches from yours, cracked your rib cage wide open. Your heart was bare, throbbing in the open air alongside your desperate cunt. With all higher thinking turned off, you leaned even closer, trying to chase Joel’s lips as they eluded you.

“M’gonna kiss ya now baby, s’that alright?,” he breathed, his eyes never once leaving yours.

A shaky nod was the best you could do as your entire being thrummed with desire, every piece of you begging for him to do something, anything that might help with the fire raging deep inside of your belly.

Joel chuckled, “Words darling, need to hear ya say it.”

“Kiss me Joel,” you sighed, eyes already fluttering to a close as he leaned in.

The second your eyes closed, Joel’s lips were on yours, soft and sweet despite the urgency you knew was hiding underneath. A strangled groan rumbled in his chest as you tugged on his hair, his hips jumping up into yours. He was gentle at first, almost like he was testing the waters before he allowed himself to let go, but you wouldn’t have it. A shudder went through him as you nipped at his bottom lip, silently asking for entry that he happily accepted. The second that you first tasted each other, the pace quickened, with both of your tongues battling it out for dominance as hands began to wander over exposed flesh. His free hand left your hair, running down the side of your neck, across your clavicle, before drifting down to cup one of your breasts.

“Joel,” you gasped, breaking away as his thumb played with your hardened nipple.

“So sensitive,” he murmured against your neck, brushing his lips down the side of it before he found the perfect spot to bite down on.

The sting forced a broken and desperate wail from you, making Joel’s cock jump as you wiggled against him. He grunted as you squirmed, your movements causing him to slide between your folds just right. The underside of his dick pushed through the wetness there, gliding up until the tip nudged your clit. Another pathetic sound spilled from your lips, breaking through the last bit of his patience one and for all. His hands traveled down and gripped your asscheeks, starting a filthy grind that had you keening into his ear in seconds.

“O-oh my fuck, yes,” you whimpered, mind spinning as his stubble chafed the raw skin along the side of your neck and his tip teased your throbbing clit.

“Yeah? Is that the spot baby? Fuck, I can feel her trying to suck me in shi-it,” Joel groaned as he ground his hips into yours ever harder, making sure that the tip of his cock passed over your drenched entrance with every stroke.

“Please, please, please,” you begged, desperate tears forming in the corners of your eyes.

“Such a needy little thing, aren’t ya honey?,” he drawled, his words turning you into putty.

The devilish grin Joel gave you had the tears spilling over instantly, yet another shamelessly obscene noise echoing throughout the trees in lieu of a response. The grip on your ass tightened, the sting only adding to the pleasure building in your gut. You hoped that his fingers would leave thick bruises for you to admire later, proof that you hadn’t dreamt the steamy encounter. But before you could dwell on that for too long, a particularly brutal bite to your breast made you cry out, his tongue running over the indents in a way that made you buck in his hold.

“Asked ya a question baby,” Joel reminded you, his tongue laving over the angry indents that his teeth had left behind.

“Yes!,” you practically shouted, eyes rolling in their sockets as his cock continued to rub against your swollen clit, “Needy - mmmmm, fuck - I need it, need you.”

He chuckled darkly, all of the usual kindness in his eyes gone as he murmured, “I know you are sweetheart, but I wanna see you cum just like this. Such a good girl grinding up against me like this, so damn perfect f’me baby. C’mon, work for my cock.”

Your jaw dropped, a shock running through your body in response to his words. Joel was always so soft and sweet with you, a gentle giant that looked after you at every turn. And yet, the filth that came out of him was like nothing you had ever heard. Whimpering his name, you tore at the curls around the base of his neck, crying out as you tried your best to match his teasing thrusts.

Joel grunted when you smashed your lips against his, trying to muffle some of the lewd praises he was drawing out of you. The kiss was nothing more than a mix of tongues and teeth as the fire in your belly burned brighter and brighter, your pussy oozing slick that only added to his shameless grinding. A strangled cry was swallowed by Joel as he picked up the pace, beginning to rut against you like an animal. He was so close to the place you really wanted him. One little slip and he would be pushing inside, forcing you to stretch around him so that he could bottom out all in one go.

The rest of the world fell away, all you could focus on was Joel’s cock in between your folds. You wanted him to slip inside, to numb your mind with his girthy cock, to slam into you like a madman until you started speaking in tongues, but he had other ideas. Instead of tearing you apart like you wanted, he continued to tease, building the both of you up without ever once pressing into your entrance. What made it worse was that you knew he wanted to, you felt it in the way his cock jumped with every glide, angrily begging him to let go of all his reservations and fuck the shit out of you. But for whatever reason, he wouldn’t take that final step.

“C-Cock, I want, I need - shit - Need your cock please! F-Fuck, please fuck me Joel. I need it, need you inside,” you stammered as you pulled away from the kiss.

Joel’s hand reached up to grasp the hands at the base of your skull, wrenching your head back so hard that you hissed. He smiled as he felt you wiggle against him, pussy throbbing from the sting.

“You’ve already got it baby,” he pointed out, brows pinching together as you whined at him in response.

“No, no, no, no,” you sobbed, all higher thinking gone in the wind, “Inside pleeeease, f-fuck.”

Joel’s hand wrenched your head even further backwards, drawing a heartbreaking wail from you. The blurriness in your eyes dissipated as you blinked away tears and suddenly, he was all you could see. He looked absolutely wrecked with the highs of his cheekbones reddened, his lips swollen, and his eyes heavy on yours.

“Listen to me,” Joel commanded, his clipped tone breaking through the fog in your brain instantly, “I ain’t gonna fuck ya out in the woods like you’re some kind of hook up. You deserve better than that baby, do you understand me?”

Fresh tears dotted your waterline but you blinked them away, needing to see the awe inspiring devotion that was embedded in every inch of Joel’s face. All of the air in your lungs wooshed out of you, the excited little flip that your tummy gave only adding to the urgency building up inside of you. His nose bumped against yours again, the gentle kiss he gave you in sharp contrast to the depraved way his hips rutted against yours underneath the surface of the water.

“Do. You. Under. Stand. Me?,” he grunted, driving his point home with five mind breaking strokes.

“Y-Yes Joel,” you whimpered, quick to answer so that you didn’t get another set of teeth marks dug into your other breast, “I-I understand - fuck, please just let me cum. I wanna cum baby, please. I can’t - shit!”

“Good fucking girl, of course you can cum. Want to feel her gush baby,” he ordered, a shit eating grin on his face as leaned in and sank his teeth into the sensitive patch of skin beneath your jaw.

A garbled shout broke free, echoing in the open air and undoubtedly scaring off any birds within a thirty mile radius. The pain of the bite sent sparks of pain/pleasure dancing down your spine, igniting the powder keg that had you shaking against him as the pressure in your abdomen exploded. One particularly sharp thrust and you were flying, crying out for Joel as your pussy clenched around nothing. He groaned but kept up his pace, pistoning away as you lost your vision and dissolved into a puddle of pleasure induced tears.

“That’s it, such a good girl for me, so pretty and sweet. Aw, that poor pussy needed that didn’t she? I bet she’s been crying for me,” Joel cooed, starting to pant as his own release neared.

His cock twitched hard, knocking him off of his rhythm for a few strokes as he continued to wring as much pleasure from your still spasming core as he could. He was struggling to hold on, selflessly keeping his own release at bay to see yours through, but you were too greedy to wait. Before the last bit of your orgasm had petered off you were gripping his hair again, tilting his head so that you could tease him with a line of open mouthed kisses and sharp nips to his neck. Joel wheezed, muttering angry sounding compliments under his breath as he got even closer.

“Mmmm, want you to cum Joel,” you whined, leaving him another love bite that would undoubtedly bruise, “Please? I’ve been so good for you and I wanna feel it. Don’t you want to cum for me baby?”

He groaned, “God fucking dammit baby, yes. M’gonna give it to ya, take it, take it, take it - fuuuuck.”

Joel let out a muffled groan that sounded vaguely like your name as he exploded, his cum warming your folds momentarily before it was washed away beneath the water. He kept going for as long as he could, prolonging both of your releases until it became too much for him. When his hips finally slowed to a halt , you sighed, reveling in the feeling of his warm breath washing over your face. As you came down from your high, Joel’s lips found every angry bruise he had left on your neck and chest, brushing over them with a quiet reverence that was hard to pass off as casual. The attention to the marks he had made was gentle, with each kiss like a wordless thanks and a promise of more to come.

You let out a contented sigh, wrapping your arms around Joel’s neck and burrowing your face into the crook of his neck so that you could breathe him in. It wasn’t fair how good he always smelled, so clean and spicy, with just a hint of something natural that was all him. It was enough to make you dizzy. You were so entirely addicted to Joel that the feeling of him readjusting his hold on you made you whimper and wrap yourself around him like a python, terrified that he might let go. He had peeled back the steel wall you had built up around yourself, leaving you much too vulnerable to be left alone anytime soon.

“Shhh, none of that honey. I’m just getting ya out of the water before you freeze to death. Relax, I ain’t gonna ya let go,” he assured you, his mustache tickling the shell of your ear as he started towards the shore.

“M’too heavy,” you mumbled sleepily.

Not that your protest mattered. With how hard you had just came, your legs were pretty much just for show. You didn’t even want to think of how pathetic any attempt at walking would be.

Joel snorted, “And yet here I am, carrying ya just fine baby. Just let me take care of ya for a sec, then you can go back to being tough m’kay?”

“Fine,” you sighed, much too tired to argue with him.

All of the fight in you had drifted away, soothed by the feeling of Joel’s cock sliding against you until you burst. With a full belly, a temporarily satisfied pussy, and only a few hours of sleep under your belt, you slumped into him, sighing as your body relaxed fully for the first time in weeks. He let you do it, pressing a small kiss to the side of your head as you allowed his rhythmic movements to lull you into a state somewhere between awake and asleep. You barely noticed when he pulled you both from the water, only coming to when a smattering of kisses was suddenly being laid all over your face.

“Mmm?,” you hummed, blinking up at him with a lazy smile on your face.

The blanket was beneath you, the soft fabric protecting you from the dry dirt below. Joel’s body was draped over yours, the warmth of it scaring away the chill that threatened to take hold with each gust of wind. You clung to him, caressing his toned arms before smoothing them down the contours of his back. His muscles flexed underneath your palms, tensing and untensing as he dropped down onto his elbows to get a little closer.

“God, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he mused, eyes bright as he cupped the side of your face.

You nuzzled his palm, pressing a kiss to it that softened all of Joel’s features. He melted under the simple action, his brows pinched together as he leaned down to capture your lips in a kiss. It was different from the kisses the two of you had shared just moments before, more tender and affectionate, but no less incredible. There was no urgency to it anymore, just the tender need to explore each other as the afternoon began to fade into evening. At one point Joel tried to pull away to say something but you swiftly drew him back in, smiling into it like a lovestruck teen. Nevertheless, it was you that eventually pulled away, utterly heartbroken that you had to take time to breathe.

“Joel,” you sighed.

What you felt was big, but you were unsure how to articulate it without scaring him away.

“I know darling, I know,” Joel answered quietly as his big hands worshiped every inch of bare skin exposed.

The air between the two of you was electric, forcing you together like magnets. His weight overtop of you was heavy but you didn’t mind. It grounded you, he grounded you in a way that nobody ever had. Joel didn’t push you to be anything except yourself, nor did he hold back his own yearning for the sake of some sort of tough guy act. Why would he? He wasn’t insecure in his masculinity, his strength was clear in everything he did, along with his kindness.

The two of you stayed like that for some time, melded together as the dampness on your bodies slowly evaporated. You wanted to remain in the woods with Joel forever, using him like a weighted blanket as his lips continued to map out every inch of your skin. Nevertheless, as the sun began to tease the tops of the trees, signaling its intentions to set for the night, it became painstakingly clear that your time with him was running out.

Joel helped you up when it was time to go, handing you the rumpled dress with a sheepish look on his face. You rolled your eyes and took it from him, amused at how easily it was to make him squirm. Not that you were any different, as you soon found yourself sneaking peeks while he pulled his own clothes back on. He moved to pack up the bag after that, making sure to take all the garbage before closing it up, but you had bigger fish to fry.

The panties you had worn were gone, the red fabric seemingly nowhere to be found despite the fact that you knew exactly where you had dropped them. You surveyed the area, looking in the bushes, in the reeds, in the hibiscus plants that grew near the edge of the swimming hole, but nothing came of it. With a frustrated sigh, you threw your hands up in the air and cursed, convinced that they had somehow been blown into the rushing waters.

“What’s wrong baby?,” Joel called out, slinging the bag over his shoulder as you turned towards him.

“I can’t find my stupid panties anywhere,” you sighed.

“Oh um,” he blushed, reaching into his back pocket to produce the tiny red panties you had worn with him in mind, “Here ya go, sorry ‘bout that.”

You balked, eyes bulging from their sockets as you saw Joel’s hand holding out the dainty fabric. There was only one reason he would have taken them for and the thought of it made you weak, especially when you remembered that you already had a pair left hanging to dry in his bathroom from the night before. You imagined him sprawled out on his bed after you left, lazily tugging on his cock with one hand while the other shoved your used panties into his face. It was an absolutely depraved thought and you were suddenly compelled to make it a reality.

“No, keep them for now. Just give me my other pair back so I can wash them. That way you can get them all nice and dirty for me again,” you replied, leaving him with a wink before slinking towards the trail.

“Gonna give me a damn heart attack baby,” you heard him say under his breath, followed by a curse and a set of heavy footsteps stumbling after you.

Joel caught up to you easily, remaining close so that he could try to hold back as many branches as he could. The walk back was easier than the way in, with the two of you maneuvering around the overgrown parts with more ease than before. It was crazy how much one orgasm could change things, as the two of you practically floated back to the truck with sluggish limbs and happy smiles. He kissed you again after he helped you into the truck, leaving you breathless before he carefully shut the passenger’s side door and raced over to the driver’s seat.

The second Joel was in the truck, you slid across the bench again, greedily melding yourself against his side. He lifted his arm, a blissed out look on his face as he nuzzled the top of your head and veered back onto the dirt road. With the dying sun in the rearview mirror, along with a sappy old love song crackling through the ancient radio, you felt balanced. As you listened to Joel mumble along, you closed your eyes, allowing his soft voice to lead you into a dreamless sleep.

- Joel -

Joel wasn’t sure what to do. There you were, curled into his side like a kitten as you slept and yet, he knew that couldn’t stay parked in your driveway all night. He had work the next morning and so did you, plus he had two kids that he had to make sure were safe in their beds for the night. But how could Joel wake you? How could he watch you walk into your own home, leaving him behind on the porch as you had the previous night? He couldn’t but he had to, so he sighed and softly shook your shoulders.

“Time to wake up sweetheart, we’re home,” he said softly, chuckling at the noise of protest you let out as you roused.

The way you looked up at him, rubbing the sleep from your eyes with a cute little frown on your face, would have knocked Joel over if he had been standing. An indecent proposal was on the tip of his lips, threatening to tumble out and ruin everything, but he kept it in. Just because you had been gracious enough to let him see and touch you, like a goddess granting her humble servant a glimpse at her divine nature for pleasing her, didn’t mean that you wanted him dragging you into his bed. He needed to be realistic, it was a Sunday and you were likely just as exhausted as him.

“Mmm, I don’t want you to go,” you mumbled, voice muffled as you squeezed him tight.

Joel chuckled, “And I don’t wanna leave ya honey, but we’ve both got work in the morning.”

A petulant sight came from you as you sat up, regarding him with a wary eyes.

“So why don’t you stay?,” you proposed.

He blinked, surprised that it had been you and not him that had broken first.

“Well I uh -”

“Shit, forget it. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot Joel, I just haven’t been sleeping well lately and I thought that maybe if you - mmfph.”

Joel cut you off, crashing his mouth into yours to halt your nervous babbling. Of course he wanted to stay the night with you. The thought of wrapping himself around you, of gluing himself to you as you both dreamt, was too good to pass up but he had other responsibilities. However, that didn’t mean that a compromise couldn’t be made. He pulled away once he felt you relax a bit, chuckling as your lips tried to chase his.

“Stay at my house tonight instead,” Joel said, the question more of a statement than anything else.

You scoffed, “What’s wrong with mine?”

“Nothing baby, but I’ve gotta make sure the girls are in. They’re pretty self sufficient these days but they’re still kids, can’t just let ‘em roam the streets ya know?,” he joked.

Although the sneaking out hadn’t started yet, with how often Ellie disappeared to go hang out with her girlfriend, or how social Sarah was, Joel knew that the day was coming. It was a natural phenomenon, something every kid did when they were learning to stand apart from their parents but until that day, he would continue with the nightly bed checks he had been doing since they were babies.

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude if you’ve gotta get them ready for bed or something,” you said.

“Honey, they’re both fourteen years old. I’m pretty sure they can figure out how to tuck themselves in these days, I just gotta make sure they’re home safe. I won’t um,” Joel stopped, cheeks turning blotchy and red as he added, “I won’t be able to sleep if I don’t check on ‘em.”

“Joel Miller, the big softie,” you teased affectionately, nodding at him as you fumbled for the door, “C’mon then handsome, take me home. I’m fucking exhausted.”

Joel smiled and hopped out of the truck, deciding to leave the rest of the picnic stuff in the truck for the night. He helped you out, grabbing your hand as he led you towards the door. Too excited to take the length of his legs into account, Joel dragged you across the street, pulse quickening as he caught the dopey look on your face as you stumbled along. He ushered you into the house, thankful that the girls were nowhere to be seen so far. The last thing he needed was for them to point out all of the hickeys he had mindlessly left over your neck and chest, or the ones you had so kindly bestowed upon him.

“I feel like we’re teens sneaking in after curfew,” you whispered as the two of you quietly climbed the stairs, careful not to wake the girls.

“Better be quiet then, wouldn’t want ya to get grounded,” Joel teased, chuckling at your muted groan over his corny joke.

“Ridiculous,” you mumbled, though you never once moved to let go of his hand.

Somehow Joel managed to get you into his room without alerting either of his nosy teens, which he thanked every single higher being for. After shutting the door, he led you to the bathroom first, giving you a spare toothbrush and a quick kiss on the cheek before he left to get you something comfy to wear for bed. He settled on one of his softer T-shirts and a pair of boxers he had gotten as a gag gift, the flaming on the hearts on them much too bold for him to ever wear himself.

Joel left the change of clothes on the bed, his steps lively as he slipped back out into the hall. He checked on Sarah first, knowing that she was the most likely of the two to be asleep before eleven p.m. A curled up ball stuck out from under her sheets, with nothing but her silk bonnet peeking out as she mumbled in her sleep. He smiled, carefully easing her door shut before he tiptoed down the hall to check on his other daughter.

The television in Ellie’s room was still on, playing one of the many science fiction series she was addicted to at a volume that was, quite frankly, disturbing. Meanwhile the kid herself was gone to the world, conked out with her face buried into her pillow. Joel chuckled and eased himself into the room, finding her remote so that he could shut off the horrendous alien induced violence that Ellie was so blissfully snoozing to. He left the remote on top of her television, giving her one last look before he shut the door and ventured down the hall.

With both the girls accounted for, Joel’s thoughts shifted back to you. His heart fluttered as he headed towards his room, a giddiness taking hold that shocked him. You made him so delightfully stupid, so blindly enraptured that he was surprised the two of you had gotten anything done that day at all. Still, nothing could have prepared him with the sight of you when Joel walked in. You were wearing his shirt, laying in his bed as you turned over to greet him with a sleepy smile. He almost fell to his knees.

“Took ya long enough,” you croaked, eyelids already fluttering as you graciously fought against sleep for him.

“M’sorry honey, I just -”

“Shhh, nothing to be sorry for. Just come to bed baby, I miss you,” you yawned, gesturing to the empty space beside you.

Joel swallowed hard, the term of endearment not lost on him as he allowed himself to be pulled in by something inside of him that screamed at him to make you his. Baby. You had called him baby again. If that wasn’t enough to get him to join you, nothing was. He ditched his shirt and pants without another word, sliding into the cool sheets with a small groan as all of the strain of the day melted away.

Joel didn’t waste any time after he slipped into the sheets and scooched over to your side, pressing himself into you. You reached back after a moment, grabbing his arm so you could wrap it around yourself. He grinned and snuggled a bit closer, allowing himself to hold you in his arms like he wanted to, like you were already his.

“Good night Joel,” you mumbled, pressing a sweet kiss on his arm before you laid your head back against the pillow.

“G’night darling, sleep well,” he sighed, answering your kiss with a peck on the shoulder.

Not that you heard him, you were already fast asleep before Joel had even finished talking. He smiled, sighing as he trapped you against him. It had been some time since he had a woman sleep in his bed. Most of his hook ups since the girls were born had been quick and dirty meetups outside of the home, each of them leaving the other side of his bed cold for yet another night, but you were different.

If Joel had it his way, you would be a permanent fixture in his bedroom, sharing warmth and synchronizing your breaths to his as the night passed. He imagined what the mornings might be like; if you would be an early riser like him or if he would have to come find you after his morning coffee. Would you giggle as he laid sweet kisses all over your face, greeting him with one of the most precious smiles he had ever seen? Or would you groan and bury your head under the pillow, grumbling curses until he brought your attention to the ridiculously sugary coffee he had placed on your bedside table? Your bedside table.

Joel groaned, trying not to get ahead of himself despite the excitement that threatened to take hold of the more rational parts of his mind, but it was nearly impossible. He had been alone, in one way another, for the past thirty four years. Of course he had his girls, he had Tommy, but it wasn’t the same. With them he had to be strong - a father, an older brother - someone who they could depend on to carry all of their burdens. They couldn’t fill that secret part of him that longed to be soft, to be broken from time to time without judgement, to hold and be held like he was the fragile one when he needed it.

With you, Joel saw the first opportunity for someone to actually know him in that way. Which was why as the night went on, he found himself wide awake, too excited to let himself fall into the peaceful sleep he ached to join you in. Nevertheless as he watched the sun begin to peak through the trees in the backyard, signaling the new day to come, he allowed himself to truly enjoy the last few seconds before the alarm clock would go off, already dreading the thought of letting you go.

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou fanfic #angst #comfort #joel tlou #joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader #joel x reader #soft!joel miller #joel x reader smut #joel miller fluff

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unicornjoking1111 · 1 year ago

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Success story from Neville Goddard's book (The Law and the promise) (chapter: there is no fiction)

*this is not my work but a copy paste from Neville's book*

Spoiler alert!!! *this story is really amazing! its about a 19 year old dancing teacher who didn't believe in imagination but took up the challenge to owning a studio (Arthur Murray dance studio franchise) to making it much bigger and meeting Arthur Murray himself*

As my story begins at the age of nineteen I was a mildly successful dancing teacher and continued in this static state for almost five years. At the end of this time I met a young lady who talked me into attending your lectures. My thought, upon hearing you say ‘Imagining creates reality’, was that the entire idea was ridiculous. However, I decided to accept your challenge and disprove your thesis. I bought your book ‘Out of This World’ and read it many times. Still unconvinced, I set myself a rather ambitious goal. My present position was as an instructor with the Arthur Murray Dance Studio and my goal was to own a franchise and be boss of an Arthur Murray studio myself! “This seemed the most unlikely thing in the world as franchises were extremely difficult to secure, but on top of this fact, I was completely without the necessary funds to begin such an operation. Nevertheless. I assumed the feeling of my wish fulfilled as night after night, in my imagination, I went to sleep managing my own studio. Three weeks later a friend called me from Reno, Nevada. He had the Murray Studio there and said it was too much for him to cope with alone. He offered me a partnership and I was delighted; so delighted, in fact, that I hastened to Reno on borrowed money and promptly forgot all about you and your story of Imagination!

“My partner and I worked hard and were very successful, but after a year I was still not satisfied, I wanted more. I began thinking of ways and means to get another studio. All my efforts failed. One night as I retired, I was restless and decided to read. As I looked through my collection of books I noticed your slender volume, ‘Out of This World’. I thought of the ‘silly nonsense’ I had gone through one year ago before getting my own studio. GETTING MY OWN STUDIO! The words in my mind electrified me! I reread the book that night and later, in my imagination, I heard my superior praise the good job we had done in Reno and suggest we acquire a second studio as he had a second location ready for us if we desired to expand. I re-enacted this imaginal scene nightly without fail. Three weeks from the first night of my imaginal drama, it materialized — almost word for word. My partner accepted the new studio in Bakersfield and I had the Reno Studio alone. Now I was convinced of the truth of your teaching and never again will I forget. “Now I wanted to share this wonderful knowledge — of imaginal power with my staff. I tried to tell them of the marvels they could accomplish, but I was unable to reach many although one fantastic incident resulted from my efforts to tell this story. A young teacher told me he believed my story but said it would have probably happened anyway in time. He insisted the entire theory was nonsense but stated that if I could tell him something of an incredible nature that would actually happen and which he could witness — then he would believe. I accepted his challenge and conceived a truly fantastic test. “The Reno Studio is the most insignificant in the entire Murray system because of the small population count in the city itself. There are over three hundred Murray Studios in the country with much larger populations, therefore providing greater possibilities to draw from. So, my test was this. I told the teacher that within the next three months, at the time of a national dance convention, the little Reno Studio would be the foremost topic of conversation at that convention. He calmly stated this was quite impossible. “That night when I retired, I felt myself standing before a tremendous audience. I was speaking on ‘Creative Imagining’ and felt the nervousness of being before such a vast audience; but I also felt the wonderful sensation of audience acceptance. I heard the roar of applause and as I left the stage, I saw Mr. Murray, himself come forward and shake my hand. I re-enacted this entire drama night after night. It began to take on the ‘tones of reality’ and I knew I had done it again! “My imaginal drama materialized down to the last detail. “My little Reno Studio was the ‘talk’ of the convention and I did appear on that stage just as I had done in my imagination. But even after this unbelievable but actual happening, the young teacher who threw me the challenge remained unconvinced. He said it had all happened too naturally! And he was sure it would have happened anyway!

“I did not mind his attitude because his challenge had given me another opportunity to prove, at least to myself, that Imagining does Create Reality. From that time on, I continued with my ambition to own the ‘largest Arthur Murray Dance Studio in the world’! Night after night, in my imagination, I heard myself accepting a studio franchise for a great city. Within three weeks Mr. Murray called me and offered a studio in a city of one and a half million people! It is now my goal to make my studio the greatest and biggest in the entire system. And, of course, ‘I know it will be done — through my Imagination’!” …E.O.L., Jr.

#loa success #loa #neville goddard #manifestation #vaunts & affirmations #the void state #void success #void state #law of assumption

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cryoux · 1 year ago

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Wanderer x reader - Soul Invasion

(Part two to Dream Invasion)

The Wanderer had honestly forgotten you were there for a moment, too absorbed in his own racing thoughts. When he returned from his mental journey, the lengths of which he didn't care to admit, he was acutely aware of you. Your eyes, staring at him, seeing him for who he really was. Though right now, that would be a liar and a creep, he assumed.

"I can't be that nice to look at," he said dryly, in an effort to get your uncomfortably nice gaze occupied with something other than staring into his soul.

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head before looking back up at him. "You know you are, jerk." You pointed out, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

The Wanderer couldn't hide his shock at the statement. It seemed you quickly realized your mistake, though, when you coughed awkwardly and averted your gaze.

"I mean, from an objective standing." You said quickly, but the damage had already been done. If the Wanderer had a heart, he was sure it would be pounding in his chest right about now. But he didn't, so it wasn't, and therefore he shouldn't logically be feeling this. He couldn't logically be feeling this. Yet your eyes dragged up to meet his, and he was reeling again.

The long silence was getting more awkward by the second. The Wanderer almost possibly felt bad for you, so he rolled his eyes and remedied the situation the best way he knew how.

"Shut up."

You fixed him with an unimpressed look, but it appeared that his clever words had given you the gift of conversation again.

"Glad to see my near-death experience hasn't shaken you up at all," you shot back. The Wanderer almost laughed - your near-death experience had shaken him beyond repair, had damaged him so much that he was now having these feelings. It was all your fault, wasn't it? It was your fault he was feeling this, your fault he couldn't get the stupid feeling of your lips on his out of his stupid head.

He only scoffed. "Why would I be? It wasn't our near-death experience." Except it was probably the closest he had ever gotten to a heart attack, the Wanderer thought.

Now you rolled your eyes at him, yet that smile played on your lips: the very same lips that he currently struggled to get out of his thoughts.

And then he was hit again by the stabbing, aching, pounding reality that you had kissed him in that dream. That you were the one who supposedly couldn't hold yourself back. That you liked him. He didn't feel worthy of such pure, happy feelings. The only things that most folks associated him with were fear, snark, and general rudeness, so why did you feel differently? It stumped him so much that he may as well have written it down as his thesis for that damned Akademiya project Nahida told him to do.

What was it these scholars did after their hypothesis? Experiment? Research? Seethe in a pool of horrible rage and frustration? Nevertheless, the Wanderer found no real issues with his particular question, so he launched it forward into the heavy air.

"Why do you stick around?" He asked, sounding as nonchalant as he could, even though he felt sick with anticipation.

You seemed surprised by that question. He had taken you off guard, yet for once, he didn't feel like gloating about it. Instead he made tense, unwavering eye contact, staring at you even as you looked away.

"Because you're not that bad." You responded with a shrug. Not that bad? Well, it was already a huge improvement from conniving, evil, and loathsome.

Plus, apparently 'not that bad' equated to a kiss, even if it wasn't strictly real. A kiss that, by all means, should not have happened. Yet here he was. Here you were.

You really had a way of defying his expectations, in a way that almost seemed personal sometimes. It was almost like you were created specifically to challenge everything he thought, to argue with every mindset he'd gained over his life.

The Wanderer may have invaded your dreams, but even there, you managed to invade his thoughts. His feelings, his emotions, whatever garbage melded together to constitute a heart. Perhaps it was his soul; his soul you had invaded, made a home in, and stubbornly refused to vacate.

"Is everything okay?" Your voice cut through his internalized crisis, bringing him back to harsh, confusing reality. You were confused, and for good reason. He had just been scowling at your face as he ventured his mindscape.

So, oh powerful Balladeer, oh divine creation, how would he respond? Was being honest even an option?

Would you even still like him if he was vulnerable?

Something about your eyes, the way you looked at him quizzically, but not harshly, told him you just might.

So he let out a massive sigh and allowed the words to leave his tongue. "What is it you see in me?"

How dare you look at him that way, with fondness buried in your gaze. He hated it. Or maybe he hated himself.

"You…" your voice trailed off, and it was a horrifying moment of anticipation. "You're mean. You can be cruel. Sometimes I want to yell at you, other times I just want to understand you." Another pause as you gathered your thoughts.

"But… you have good in you. Something tells me you weren't born this way, but life forced you to become something else. I actually like being around you. You make me laugh, you protect me without even realizing it sometimes. And hey, you brought me here, so you saved my life." You explained, looking around at the little village hut the two of you were in.

The Wanderer tried to find a lie in your words, but there wasn't any. Everything was true, distressingly true. Even if he didn't want to, even if it didn't make sense, he cared about you. And somehow, you cared about him.

He couldn't meet your eyes as he processed it all. You looked at him so comfortably, it was despicable. It was its own kind of cruelty.

"You're an idiot." The Wanderer scoffed, glaring at the bed you lay on. He should have prevented your injury, he thought, proving all of your words right. "You're an idiot for liking me."

You sputtered for a response, and the word 'cute' crossed his mind, and he couldn't tell who he hated more in this moment: You, or his own mind.

"I- Okay, I didn't say I liked you, just that I… I've grown a little fond of you, alright? I know you don't feel the same, so it doesn't matter anyway." You spoke quickly, trying to sound convincing, but your attempted indifference was futile. He knew the truth. And maybe he just couldn't resist the chance to tease you with it.

He smirked at you, in the way that had always made you a bit shy, and now he could pinpoint the reason.

You liked him.

"Really? That's not the message I was getting earlier…" he snickered, leaning closer to you. He was always so in control on the outside, but truthfully, he was on the verge of breaking down for good.

You frowned at him. Wait, he didn't know, right? How could he? There was no possible way, he was sure you were thinking. Just like how there was no possible way for him to develop feelings for you. And yet…

The Wanderer sighed. Oh, he really didn't want to explain this to you. Or to anyone, for that matter. It was terribly complicated -seeing that he'd erased his existence from the world- to explain anything from his past, so he had just decided not to.

But something in him said you deserved an explanation, and he wanted to punch that something in the throat.

"What are you talking about?" You blurted out after an admirably long thought process. Or, that's what he assumed. Maybe it was just a jumbled mess like his was.

A sigh preceded his words, a common occurrence. "Not too long ago, I was… exposed to a great deal of divine power. It granted me extra abilities, and appearing in dreams and visions was one of them. You…" The Wanderer paused. Did he really want you knowing that he was worried about you, when he saw you in that nightmare? …maybe not. That was not something anybody needed to know.

"I wanted to check on your condition." He concluded, leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms. The way you were looking at him, so adorably confused, made him wish he had a heart so he could tear it right out of his chest and be rid of this turmoil.

"Wait, so you were actually in my dream?" You asked nervously, and the Wanderer only nodded.

Your face turned bright red as you processed the information, then stumbled over some form of response.

"Oh shi- I'm so sorry, I didn't know- I mean not that I wouldn't have- I mean I would, and I did, but only because I thought you weren't actually there, and that was probably really weird for you but also it's kind of weird that you were even in my dream in the first place, not that I particularly mind but it's just a strange thought and-"

…silence.

The first thought the Wanderer had, that broke through the quiet reverie, was something along the lines of: your lips were lovely.

He couldn't care less if you had chapped or perfectly soft lips. All he knew was that he'd never felt this alive before. You were warm, you were breathing, you were shaking, you were imperfect, but at that moment he couldn't think of anything more attractive.

Heh. What a curse you were.

#holy shit i did it #wanderer #wanderer x reader #wanderer x you #wanderer x y/n #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x reader #genshin impact #genshin x reader #wanderer fluff #scaramouche fluff #genshin wanderer

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cowgurrrl · 2 years ago

Note

OKAY WAIT

late night talks with college!joel - how reader and him came to date. they were studying they got distracted talking about something and stayed up all night taking. now joel can get her off his mind. 😉

thank you harry styles <3

I’ll kiss you on the mouth dude I love this idea

UPDATE: I DIDNT KNOW HOW TO END IT AND IF IT WASNT FOR MY MELATONIN KICKING IN I WOULDVE CONTINUED IT

She’s got a book for every situation

Pairing: college!joel x fem!reader

Summary: this ask

Author’s note: typed in tumblr and not proofread so god speed slayers 🫡

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, Joel being The Biggest Flirt, June your BA in English is showing, I think that’s it??

Working at the writing center on campus has its perks. You get unlimited printing, editing experience, and free coffee. Granted, it’s from a pot that had been simmering for several days but it’s free nevertheless. You’ve even managed to get in good with a few professors who would recommend their students come to you if they need help. Normally, they don’t take the advice until finals week and they all scramble into your office all at once. So, when a tall guy with curly dark hair walks into your desolate lobby, you’re a little surprised. He looks lost with a stack of papers piled in his hands and visibly relaxes when he sees you peek your head out.

“Hey there. Can I help you?” You ask, approaching him.

“Maybe. ‘M from Dr. Phillips class and she said to come to the writing center and ask for…” He trails off as he glances down at his paper before saying your name. “Said she might be able to help me with my paper.”

“Yeah, I think she can help you with your paper.” You say and hold out your hand to grab the red inked paper. It’s a paper on Kerouac who’s never been your favorite. In fact, you wrote an entire paper about how pretentious and privileged Jack Kerouac actually was but that’s neither here nor there. The bottom line is that you know how to write a paper professors are looking for. You feel his eyes scanning your face as you read his thesis and try to ignore the blush creeping over your cheeks.

“I take it you’re the brilliant writer Dr. Phillips likes so much.” He says. You smile but don’t take your eyes off his words so you don’t get distracted by his presence.

“Dr. Phillips doesn’t like anyone.”

“She seemed to like you. Told me all about how smart you are,” he says. “Never mentioned the pretty part, though.” Finally, you look up and meet his gaze.

“Technically Dr. Phillips isn’t allowed to recommend one student editor over another. It’s against our policy and makes things a little fairer for everyone. So, can we keep this little secret between us…” you let your sentence end, realizing you never asked his name, and he holds out his free hand.

“Joel.” He says and you shake his hand.

“Well, Joel, I’ll tell you what. I’ll agree to help you get your paper in order if you agree to not get me fired. Fair deal?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He says politely.

You spend the rest of the day walking Joel through essay structures, grammar mistakes, and thesis issues. His argument is strong but it needs to be more concise and punchier. When you try to explain it to him in those terms, he looks at you like you’re from Mars. Eventually, after a little too much flirty small talk, he tells you about his dad’s construction company and you learn to put flowery, over dramatic writing advice into clean, neat boxes that he understands completely. Unfortunately, you don’t end up finishing the actual essay before the center closes.

“You’re free to come back tomorrow morning so we can finish this.” You say as you gather your things and stuff them in your backpack. Joel stretches in his chair, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a gorgeous sliver of tan skin and you have to force your eyes away from the sight.

“D’you live far from here?” He asks, standing and throwing his own backpack over one shoulder. You waffle for a moment, unsure if you want to tell this almost perfect stranger where you live.

“Maybe a ten minute walk. It’s not bad for Austin.”

“Can I walk you home? Since I kept you so late,” he asks. Once again, you hesitate. Joel doesn’t seem like the typical frat guy you’ve come to fear since your time at school. He actually seems gentle and genuine. You turn the thought over a few more times before he throws his hands up. “‘S just an offer to make sure you get home safe. I’ll even carry your backpack for you if you want.” He offers and you smile. You take another second before handing him your heavy backpack. He slings it over his free shoulder and walks to the door to open it for you, keys jingling in your hand as you lock up the writing center for the night. The humid Texas night suffocates you the second you step out into the fading daylight.

“You always carry girls’ backpacks home?” You ask as you start walking in the direction of your apartment. Campus is mostly empty this time of night, everyone crawling home after class to pregame or cry or both. Squirrels patrol the sidewalks for any students who may want to hand them a piece from their bagel or sandwich. Someone honks their horn in distant standstill Austin traffic, and the sun slowly slides behind the Capitol. It’s peaceful.

“Only when I make ‘em read my shitty writing.” He says and you laugh.

“Your writing’s not bad, Joel. It’s actually very good. Essays are just the worst to write.”

“You like ‘em enough to work at the writing center.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean it’s what I actually care about,” you shrug. “At this point, I’m a warm body with a clicky pen.”

“Woah there, Kafka. I think you’re a little more than that,” Joel laughs and you have to laugh too. Not only for the perfectly on brand joke but for the tone in his voice. The playful lilt makes your head feel fuzzy. “Alright then, if you don’t like essays and you don’t like Kerouac, what do you like? What do you wanna write?” He asks and you take a deep breath. It’s a question you’ve fielded more than enough times in your college career to know that not many people like your answer.

“I’m not sure yet. I like a little bit of everything.”

“Have you written anythin’ I would’ve read?”

“No,” you laugh. “Probably not.”

“Why’s that funny?” He asks and you shake your head.

“Because nobody wants to publish my work. It’s too… rough.”

“Rough?” He raises his eyebrows at you.

“Yeah. Publishers either want the next Great American Novel or nothing at all, and I am not next Great American Novel material.”

“How do you know?”

“Because nobody’s publishing me.”

“Maybe, you’re not lookin’ in the right places,” he says. “‘M just sayin’ someone as smart as you has to have somethin’ someone will wanna take.”

“Yeah, well, don’t go holdin’ your breath on me, cowboy.”

“Why do you do that?” He asks suddenly and you stop to look at him.

“Do what?” You ask.

“Try and play it off whenever someone compliments you.” He says with glaring honesty. It sets you back in your heels but you quickly recover.

“You’ve only known me for a few hours. How do you know I’m not just incredibly humble?”

“I guess I don’t,” he says. “Could I buy you a drink and figure it out?” It could be the way he, somehow, sees right through you already or the way his brown eyes look in the sunlight but you can’t stop the butterflies in your stomach. You purse your lips together and dare a step closer to him.

“Tell you what, if you get an A on this paper, I’ll let you buy me a drink.” You say.

“And if I fail?” He asks and you shake your head.

“You won’t fail.”

“But what if I do?”

“If you do, you have to…” you search your brain. “Carry my backpack home for me for a week.”

“You drive a hard bargain, ma’am.”

“But I take it Joel Miller’s a bettin’ man.”

“See, smarter than you think.” He quips and you roll your eyes.

“One thing at a time, lover boy.”

Joel ends up getting the highest grade on his essay out of anyone in his class. Dr. Phillips commends his dedication to bettering his first draft and tells him to keep up the good work. “Whatever you did to change this, keep it up.” She says when she places his graded essay on his desk. When he presents the A to you at the writing center, all you can do is applaud him and smile.

“I told you you’d pass.” You say, poking at his firm chest.

“Yeah, yeah,” he rolls his eyes. “Maybe I just needed a little motivation.”

“Oh, yeah? What was that?”

“I think I was promised a date.” He says cheekily and you nod.

“You were, and my mama raised me to be a woman of my word,” you smile. “Jenny, do you mind closing up for me tonight?” You ask the receptionist and she shakes her head.

“Not at all, darlin’. Have a good night.” She winks at you when Joel turns his back and you stick your tongue out at her.

Say what you will about the writing center but you think a date with a broad, tall, handsome cowboy is the best thing that could’ve come out of that hell hole.

#college!joel au #college!joel #Joel Miller au #the last of us au #the last of us fluff #joel miller fluff #tlou fluff #joel miller x reader #joel miller one shot #joel miller the last of us #joel miller fic #joel miller drabble

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nofomogirl · 1 year ago

Text

Before the Beginning (part 1.3.)

Part 1.1. | Part 1.2. | Part 1.4. | Part 1.5. |

Part 2.1. | Part 2.2. | Part 2.3. | Part 2.4. |

The time has finally come for me to do something I've been both very excited about and terrified of ever since July - to analyze parts of Companion of Owls. Honestly, every scene in this minisode is so much, so dense and meaty and loaded, that I find it overwhelming.

But, as I've just said, the time has come.

The topic that interests us today - the fact that Crowley used to be an angel - is brought up in the courtyard of Job's children's house.

(...) A: I... I don't think... that is what God wants. C: Well... A: And I don't think you want it either. C: What do you know about what I want? A: I know you. C: You do not know me. A: I know the angel you were. C: The angel you knew is not me. A: Then... Then you tell me that you want to do this. You look me in the eye and tell me. C: I want to. I long to destroy the blameless children of blameless Job, just as I destroyed his blameless goats. A: Then God forgive you.

Oh dear, where do I even start?

Firstly, this exchange proves that Aziraphale has memories of Crowley from before the fall AND he's aware that the demon Crawley is that person he knew. We still don't know how much exactly Aziraphale remembers and knows, nevertheless, this is an important piece of the puzzle.

As to Crowley's response - it doesn't actually tell us as much. Unlike Aziraphale, Crowley is in a full bluff mode here and very keen to chase the angel away. Let's leave it for now.

Secondly - and for me this is really the crux of the scene - when referring to the demon's past angelic self, Azirhale uses the verb to know in the present tense (I know the angel), while Crowley says it in the past tense (the angel you knew). It's quite a big deal. It shows us that they perceive the object of that knowing - the object being pre-Fall Crowley - very differently. For Aziraphale, that person still exists, even though they're not an angel anymore. But Crowley speaks about this person the way you speak about dead people, closed chapters, and generally things with no significant connection to the present. He very clearly draws the line between his before and after while Aziraphale blurs it.

This is where things get complicated and I'm not sure how to present my thoughts in an orderly and comprehensible fashion...

God, this minisode is so much all at once!

Ok, let's start pulling at the thread about how Aziraphale was actually right about Crowley not wanting to hurt Job's kids.

The angel's own words suggest that he reached that conclusion based on what he knew about Crowley from before the Fall. He knew the angel who built the stars wouldn't do something like kill innocent children; he believed that the demon Crawley was still the same person as the angel who built the stars; therefore, he assumed that the demon Crawley would make the same decisions and act the same way and wouldn't kill innocent children. And he was correct.

What does that tell us?

Nothing definitive, actually. Because of course, it doesn't. It's Good Omens.

On the one hand, it may be a hint that Aziraphale does understand and see Crowley. Sure, the thesis of this whole sub-series (part 1 of the Before the Beginning series of posts) is that the Fall has fundamentally changed Crowley and that Aziraphale fails to realize just how deep that change goes. I still stand by it. But, true to the spirit of the show, it's not as black and white and clean-cut as it may seem at first glance. It's not as simple as Crowley understanding himself and Aziraphale being wrong.

Crowley is a trauma survivor and a lot of his behavior is coping mechanisms of various kinds. The way he separates himself from a past version of himself is certainly one of them. He is not objective and logical when it comes to the change he underwent. There are plenty of things about himself he doesn't understand because he's unable to calmly examine them. There are things he is in denial about. It's not exactly a stretch to think that he might actually NOT have changed as much as he insists he did, he simply finds it hard to identify with his past self. His before self. It's not exactly uncommon.

But on the other hand, how much did Aziraphale really understand?

Firstly, while he did correctly predict what Crowley would do, he didn't necessarily get why. He might have no clue what exact specific reasons made killing innocent children - just so God and Satan could settle a bet - so despicable for the demon. Because they might have been slightly, yet significantly different reasons than Aziraphale's.

Just look at the line Aziraphale throws Crowley's way while he's gorging on ox ribs and the demon lounges and drinks wine:

Come on, you're a little bit on our side!

Just because Crowley doesn't want kids hurt, Aziraphale jumps to the conclusion that his allegiance lies with Heaven in some way. Even though Heaven very clearly wants the kids hurt, so not the most logical conclusion...

It's quite evident the angel hasn't connected the dots as well as he thinks.

(By the way, we will get back to the dialogue that follows that line because it's just so... SO.)

Secondly, I suspect Aziraphale committed a serious logical fallacy here, which is reversing the entailment. His reasoning is that IF (A) the angel who built the stars wouldn't hurt children AND (B) the demon Crawley was the same person as the angel who built the stars THEN (C) the demon Crawley wouldn't hurt children. It is a logical statement. If A is true and B is true then indeed C must be true as well. Aziraphale either knows or simply believes A, believes B, and that leads him to the conclusion - C.

C turned out to be true.

I'm very much afraid that in the depth of his mind, Aziraphale has used it as proof that A and B, but especially B, are true as well. And this kind of reasoning is most definitely not correct.

If you have a statement like IF X IS TRUE THEN Y MUST ALSO BE TRUE it absolutely does not equal IF Y IS TRUE THAN X MUST ALSO BE TRUE. It just doesn't. Let's use an example. X = A brainrotten fan has bought a copy of Good Omens in an antique bookstore; Y = A brainrotten fan owns a copy of Goof Omens. If I know that you bought the book in an antique bookstore, I also know for sure you now own the book. However, if I only know that you own the book, I don't actually know if you bought it in an antique bookstore. You could have gotten it in dozens of different ways.

I'm hardly the first one to point out that the Job minisode shows us the seeds of a great many problems that bore fruit in the final fifteen. One of them is that Aziraphale's questionable belief that he understands Crowley really well gets validated and reinforced.

The worst thing is, that there weren't any chances to correct this mistake until it was too late.

During the events surrounding Job's trials, there was an unprecedented amount of soul-bearing between Aziraphale and Crowley. Well, objectively speaking the "bearing" was still just a few glimpses, nevertheless, it is more than we ever got to see on the show. Even the imminent Armageddon hadn't caused them to be so open and honest about their relationship with Heaven and Hell.

Ok, we're definitely not done with Companion of Owls yet, but I will stop here. See you in the next post.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens meta #crowley #aziraphale #before the beginning #post series #companion to owls

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viv-hollande · 1 year ago

Text

As Promised, The Israel-Palestine Megapost of Doom

Content Warning: This post discusses both the history of the Israel-Palestine conflict and the current Israel-Gaza War. As such, it contains frank discussions of apartheid, war crimes, crimes against humanity, genocides both past and present, racism, antisemitism, colonialism, terrorism and more. As an additional tone warning, I guess: I am by nature a pretty flippant person. I’ve been criticized for that in the past, and probably will be again in the future. I don’t know if it's just who I am, or if maybe I need a therapist. I have tried to reign in some of my worse impulses, especially when talking about the actual events themselves, to try to give due respect to those affected. Nevertheless, if that kind of attitude offends or disturbs you, maybe sit this one out.

This post is brought to you in its current form thanks to the generous actions of Dr. Henry Kissinger, whose untimely death many decades after it was deserved nevertheless brought me joy great enough to drag me out of angryposting mode and into hopefully more coherent essay-writing mode. So here is the partially revised, partially rewritten, and greatly expanded post that I promised.

While I don’t have a cohesive thesis, I have written this with the intention of addressing/responding to the state of conversation around the Israel-Palestine conflict, and around the ongoing Israel-Gaza crisis. I am focusing substantially on the online discourse because it’s the only thing I have even a chance of changing. I’m a soon-to-no-longer-be-teenage college sophomore without a lot of disposable income. I’ve already called my Senators and House Rep. I really don’t have much influence beyond my power to try to persuade random internet users to be less bad.

I’ve tried to restrain my tendency for purple prose, self-righteousness, and gratuitous moral judgements; you can be the judge of whether or not I succeeded. I know that I am definitely not an expert or authority on this topic, but neither is most anyone else on this fucking website. It didn’t stop them and it won’t stop me.

But before that, some brief words on my previous post. Unlike my usual angryposting where I tend to regret everything I say and do while in the anger spiral, I can actually say that I stand by more or less everything I said in that post. I do have one correction and one clarification though. Clarification: the “Stealth Echoes” I am referring to are instances where the word Israel or Israeli are placed in quotation marks specifically. Example: As per a spokesperson of the “Israeli” Defense Forces, “Something something ceasefire violation.” Used as such, the “Stealth Echoes” around Israel or Israeli are used to signal belief in the illegitimacy of Israel. It’s literally just (((echoes))) revived. A few people thought I was talking about the use of quotes in quotation marks. Now, the correction: in my anger, I believe that I overstated the prevalence of the “Stealth Echoes”. I said 20-40%, which upon reflection was too high, brought on by seeing a long string of said posts in rapid succession. I would now say that the figure is closer to 5-10%, jumping up to 10-15% if you include instances of censoring Israeli like I*****i and the use of words like Isntreal. I feel that as a practical matter they are indistinguishable; they serve the same purpose. Whatever the number, it is too damn high and should not be going unchallenged. If you’re using them, stop. If you see someone else use them, either in a tweet or on Tumblr, don’t share them.

That done, on with the post!

To start with, I want to establish some important concepts and ideas that I’m going to expand upon later so that you are aware and thinking about them going in. Some of these will seem pretty basic, but they are important. Trust me.

Words mean things. Seriously. Words have meaning, both in isolation and as part of sentences. Many words have very specific meanings, and it is important to use them correctly. Incorrect usage of words deprives language of its utility and power. At certain points in this essay, you might think that I am being overly pedantic, but that specificity is important.

Humans possess a strong drive to create narratives, especially out of history. This is normal; almost all humans do it. However, the tendency towards narrative creates a pitfall where the narrative begins to supplant the actual events in discussion and popular consciousness. Actual history is reshaped, often through omission or erasure, to fit the existing narrative. It is this narrative, not the actual history, that informs attitudes and debate. This is a problem for all history, but especially with a history as long, divisive, and deeply emotionally effective as the Israel-Palestine conflict.

Pragmatism and idealism are broadly speaking two competing approaches towards making plans and decisions. Pragmatism is generally concerned with evaluating the state of reality and making decisions based on their objective practical effects. Though they are not necessarily incompatible, pragmatism possesses no inherent obligations to concepts like justice, morality, or good. Idealism, by contrast, is concerned with defining what the world should look like and aims to achieve that goal. This ideal world can theoretically be informed by anything, but is usually defined by morality. I generally believe that what is is more important than what should be. Whether in matters of politics, diplomacy, or war, it is better to evaluate the state of reality as best you can and tailor your goals to what is practically achievable rather than trying to force reality to conform to your idealized future.

In general, I will try to avoid ascribing intent to any individual or action, except where I feel that concrete evidence of intent is publicly available. Astute readers may know where I am going with this.

Rivers of ink have been spilled teasing apart the differences between Israelis, Jews, Zionists, Palestinians, Arabs, Muslims, and more, and between Palestine and Israel. This post is long enough without retreading all of that here. Nevertheless, I will do my best to use specific, accurate terminology where applicable.

The past is not the present. There are many facets to this point, and they will come up fairly often. For now, just keep this in mind.

With that over with, on to…

Anti-Colonialism & History

The Israel-Palestine conflict is usually characterized by the pro-Palestinian camp as an anti-colonialist struggle. In isolation, this is not a statement that I would disagree with. The modern history of Israel and Palestine is a history of colonialism, or near enough for government work. However, as I mentioned earlier, the actual history of Israel and Palestine has been reduced to a simplified narrative of righteous anti-colonialist struggle. That narrative erases the genuine complexity and nuance that is present in the Israel-Palestine conflict. I have not the time, patience, nor expertise to explain the 100+ year long history of this conflict; for a reasonably comprehensive, and as far as I know, accurate summation of the origins and course of the conflict, see this video. However, I do want to note some things that I see as important to the conflict or my arguments about it.

The Jews, whether defined as a group ethnically or religiously, have a historical connection to the land of Israel, and thus possess a potentially (we’ll get to it) legitimate claim to the land; this is, in my opinion, an important intellectual and practical difference from other examples of colonialism.

The ideological motivation behind Zionism was and still is complex, but an important and undeniable part was a desire for a safe haven from antisemitism. Keep in mind, Zionism as an idea first began to spread in earnest in the latter half of the 19th century, during an aggressively antisemitic period in European history. France experienced a surge in the popularity of antisemitic, pro-Catholic revanchists, monarchists and proto-fascists after their defeat in the Franco-Prussian War; this would culminate in the Dreyfus Affair. The Catholic Church itself was a powerful institutional advocate of antisemitism. It took until the Second Vatican Council, in the 1960s, for the Catholic Church to declare as official church doctrine that Jews, literally all Jews, past, present, and future were not in fact categorically guilty of the death of Christ, as had been church doctrine for literal centuries. The 1960s. Russia experienced wave after wave of violent anti-Jewish pogroms that lasted well into the 1920s, only really ending after the Bolsheviks victory in the Russian Civil War (though this would not be the end of Russian, and later Soviet, antisemitism). The rise of German nationalism was intimately and irrevocably tied in with antisemitism's rise to cultural ubiquity in the German Empire and later Weimar Germany. Even in the United Kingdom, which in the 19th and 20th centuries was positively tolerant by contemporary European standards, reflected in to appointment of Jews in prominent political positions up to and including Prime Ministers, was facing a resurgence in antisemitism. It may seem that I'm harping on the point for far too long, but a) I want to emphasize the truly dire straits facing the Jewish diaspora even before the Holocaust and b) while I would like to believe that the historical threat of antisemitism is accepted as common knowledge, I have been wrong before. See also: previous angry rant.

This point is possibly the most important: many Zionists, before and after the Holocaust, believed that the only way to secure the safety of the Jews in Israel was the creation of a Jewish majority state. Back when the land that was to become Israel and Palestine was believed to be mostly empty, this would have seemed easy to achieve by simply settling the area with a new Jewish population. However, after it became known that the land intended for a Jewish state was in fact inhabited, and by a substantial population no less, any intelligent Zionist would have known that the creation of any substantial Jewish majority state would require the forced eviction of the land's extant, mostly Arabic population.

I was struggling to find a place for this, so it’s going here. I have thus far avoided the use of a popular term used in relation to Israel; settler-colonialism. I have avoided its use because I see it as overused, poorly defined, and ahistorical. According to Wikipedia, accessed 30 November 2023, “Settler colonialism occurs when colonizers invade and occupy territory to permanently replace the existing society with the society of the colonizers.” If defined as such, I argue that the term settler-colonialism is practically useless because it describes literal millennia of human history. Using this definition, I have compiled a non-comprehensive list of examples of settler-colonialism, in roughly reverse chronological order: Israeli settlements in Gaza, Russification of Kaliningrad, Russification of the Crimean Peninsula, Sinicization in Xinjiang and Tibet, started by the late Qing and restarted by the PRC, British conquest of independent Boer states, Boer conquest of modern day South Africa, Ottoman colonization of Greece and the Aegean Islands, Russian conquest of Siberia, the Japanese colonization of Korea and Taiwan, centuries of successful and failed conquests of Cambodia by Vietnamese and Thai kingdoms, conquests by the Inca Empire, European colonization of the Americas, Venetian colonization across the Ionian and Mediterranean Seas, Turkic migrations into Central Asia and Anatolia, the Mongol conquests, the maritime empires of Indonesia, the Muslim conquests and subsequent Arabicization of North Africa and the Middle East, the entire history of the Roman Empire, any of the dozens of examples of Classical Greek colonies in Greece, Anatolia, Sicily, and southern Italy, the Achemenid conquests. Hell, the Phoenecians were so into colonization that one of their colonies eventually became a colonial empire in and of itself, and if you believe that all of those colonies were established on empty, virgin land then I got a seaside condo in Almaty to sell you. Though I don’t have time to go through them all, all of the above examples have either been cited by academics as examples of settler-colonialism, or share substantial commonalities with cited examples in my opinion. My problem with settler-colonialism as a term is that it is fundamentally based in modern concepts of indigeneity and nationalism. To put it bluntly, applying ahistorical modern concepts to a time and place that knew nothing of them is stupid. The vague definitions and overuse of the term compound these problems and threaten to misrepresent a near-universal human practice as an exclusively Western European phenomenon, and serve to complicate and frustrate conversation around instances where a more specific definition would be useful to meaningfully distinguish between it and other colonial projects; South Africa being a prime example. Specific language used accurately is important. All that being said, modern European colonialism more broadly and the effects thereof are important fields of study, and due to both temporal proximity and geographical reach, colonialism as it was practiced by modern European empires has had an outsized negative impact on the living conditions of billions of people currently alive in the year 2023. Sorry for all that, I just had to get it off of my chest.

So, back to the problem at hand. The point of view that sees Zionism as simply another expression of European colonialism is, in my opinion, oversimplified or even outright wrong. The fundamental problem with viewing Zionism as just another European colonial endeavor is that European Jews were generally not seen as European, but as either foreign invaders or domestic subversives. European Jews were generally excluded from the national identities developing across Europe, with very few exceptions. Where Zionism did recieve gentile support, it was secured through moral arguments and intellectual persuasion, not sinister influence. Zionism, while it was influenced by colonialism, Orientalism, and even aspects of white supremacy, was an intellectual idea and practical endeavor primarily advocated by a subset of the Jewish diaspora. In contrast to European colonialism, which was motivated in part or in whole by a mix of greed, national pride, white supremacy, and the belief in a ‘benevolent’ civilizing and christianizing mission, the intellectual underpinning of Zionism is the belief that the Jewish people possess the most legitimate claim to the land that is now Israel and Palestine as their historical homeland. That belief beggars an obvious question: do they?

Maybe?!

This is a large part of the reason why arguments about Zionism get so tangled and ugly and GAHH!. Zionism is the product of applying late 19th century concepts of nationalism and a people’s right to a homeland to a people exiled from their homeland over a thousand years before. Except it’s still more complicated than that, because the return of the Jews to Israel is an idea that is as old as the exodus itself. So the end result is that who you support is often decided by your personal answer to any number of thorny, complicated questions. Are the Jews indigenous to Israel? Are the Arabs indigenous to Palestine? If a people are expelled from their land, do they have the right to return? If yes, does that right expire? If it does, then how long does it last? Should special privilege be afforded to a people without a current homeland? What about a people who have experienced suppression, violence, and social rejection? Is it possible for a land to have multiple indigenous groups? If so, what about the right to return? Can one indigenous group act in a colonialist or imperialist manner towards another?

These questions do have answers, but even a simple yes or no requires additional explanation, elaboration, and will inevitably conflict with opposing answers. The concepts they rest on are complicated and nuanced. One that I’ve mentioned before, and one that you’re probably sick of hearing about at this point, is indigeneity. The reason I harp on this is because it is another modern idea, overused and poorly defined, that is useful, but whose applicability is less universal that an America-centric conception would suggest. Unlike in the Americas, where the dividing line between indigenous and immigrant is fairly clean cut, the Old World’s long list of conquests, migrations, depopulations, pandemics, and famines make the concept of indigeneity really fucking messy. As an example, consider the Turks. The Turks live in Turkey, or at least most of them do. Turkish nationalism, as it developed in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, considers Anatolia to be the homeland of the Turkish people. Do you know where the Turks are from?

Mongolia.

Or at least that general area. Archeological evidence is a little vague. I had a summary of that whole process here, but it was too long and I cut it. Summary2, the Seljuk Turks came to rule over Anatolia in the 10th century, starting a roughly 1000 year long process of cultural, ethnic, and linguistic conversion. In the late 19th century, the multiethnic but Turkish-ruled Ottomans began to develop and promote Turkish nationalism, partly in response to European nationalism. Because the Turkish people lived mostly in Anatolia when Turkish nationalism was developed, modern day Turkey adopted the status of homeland to the Turks. In conclusion, shit’s wack.

This is just one of literally thousands of examples of ways in which the concepts of nationalism and indigeneity are, seriously, I’m not just saying words here, complicated. They just are. These questions don’t have simple, satisfying answers and the discussion around them should reflect the nuances of the situation, but usually don't.

I have seen people expressing sentiments along the lines of, “Sitting back and debating the inexhaustible complexity of the Israel-Palestine conflict ad nauseam is obscuring the active suffering of the Palestinian people.” This is a sentiment that I understand, but do not agree with. It is important to talk about the abuses that Israel is committing in Gaza and in the West Bank, and to condemn them as criminal and immoral. But the discussion around the Israel-Gaza War does not take place in a vacuum. Discussions of the current war and of the wider conflict inevitably leave the realm of discussing what just happened and enter the realm of why. And the answer to that why? is almost inevitably wrapped up in narrative. There is an overwhelming tendency for the pro-Palestinian camp to reject the idea that Zionism might, in even a small way, have a legitimate argument. For most of the pro-Palestinian camp, the answer to the fundamental underlying question of Zionism, are the Jews indigenous to Israel? is no. Full stop. That is the narrative of Palestinian resistance. That is the narrative of anti-colonialism. That is the narrative that says that Israel is a European settler-colony. That is the narrative that delegitimizes the State of Israel. And that is a narrative that needs to change because that narrative makes negotiation and compromise impossible. Delegitimization is to nation-states what dehumanization is to people. Throughout the entirety of the American Civil War, President Lincoln referred to the conflict as a “rebellion” and the Confederacy as “rebels”, “insurrectionists”, or “traitors”. Direct quotes. A legitimate state possesses rights, can be negotiated with, and once recognized cannot be derecognized easily. An illegitimate entity must be crushed. Regardless of the crimes of Israel, and oh boy, are we going to get into those, an end to the Israel-Palestine conflict will have to be a negotiated resolution, because Israel isn’t going away.

I have my own personal beliefs about all of the above questions and more. I won’t share them because they aren’t important, and it's not really my place. However, to reiterate some of what I have said; I do think that the history of Israel and Palestine can be accurately characterized as a colonialist history, but I feel that the narrative of anti-colonialism papers over the moral complexity of the situation and intentionally delegitimizes Zionism and Israel.

Now, you may have noticed that I’ve mostly been focusing on my problems with the pro-Palestian side, for several reasons. Once again, this essay is supposed to be less about the conflict itself and more about the narratives that I have been seeing online. Since this is an overwhelmingly pro-Palestinian website, addressing that narrative has taken precedence. For that same reason, posting anti-Israeli content does feel a little bit like preaching to the choir. Nevertheless, I have many, many thoughts about Israel and the pro-Israeli narratives, and I clearly have no compunctions whatsoever about screaming my bullshit into the void, so let us now talk about…

Israel & Narrative

And also a little bit more about the Palestinian narrative. Sorry, everything’s kinda interconnected and it's hard to separate sometimes.

So I know that I tagged my last post as “kicking the hornets’ nest”, but this next bit is more like throwing a hornets’ nest at a bees’ nest sitting on the back of a tiger, but here goes.

For at least 90% of the people on this site, the history of the Israel-Palestine conflict is completely irrelevant, except for its utility in constructing narratives.

A bold statement, you say. Well yes, but it’s a bold statement that I will stand by. Most of the discussion on this website, and elsewhere, is being driven by people for whom the history of the Israel-Palestine conflict is either an academic matter, or a cudgel to beat their opponents with. There are, as always, a few exceptions. The Holocaust is one, in no small part due to its scope and relevance even outside Israel-Palestine. The First Arab-Israeli War, and concurrently the Nakba, is another due to its status as as the opening salvo of the Israel-Palestine conflict, due to the immense suffering it caused to the Palestinian people, and due to its close relationship with the right of return, which holds importance both as narrative component and as a practical political issue directly affecting the lives millions of Palestinians. Things are messy and everything has caveats.

Jupiter the nonbinary MCR stan from Wisconsin did not buy an authentic keffiyeh from a Palestinian factory or participate in the local Free Palestine march because they’re intimately versed in and personally affected by the geopolitics of the Six-Day War.

They’re doing all of that because Israel is a colonialist Amerikkkan puppet that attacks its neighbors without provocation, and Bibi’s latest genocide just killed a few 9/11s worth of children.

David, 41-year-old 4chan refugee, closet brony, “Classical Liberal” of the Carl Benjamin variety, born and raised in Buttfuck, Upstate NY, isn’t ranting and raging about the ceasefire agitators over Thanksgiving dinner because he’s thoroughly studied and is greatly aggrieved of the history of terrorism in the Palestinian liberation movement, or because he put the work in to fully understand the 2006 elections in Gaza and wholeheartedly regrets their outcome.

He’s worked up ‘cause the bus-bombing towelheads have done it again, and he doesn’t give a hoot how many Gazans die ‘cause they shoulda known who they was votin’ for.

Tumblr user viv-hollande, pro-incest Kaeluc truther from [redacted] USA wasn’t crouched over the toilet losing his lunch studying the long, tragic history of the Israel-Palestine crisis.

He was losing his lunch because they just bombed a hospital, 500 people are dead, the bastards did it and they’ll deny it just like with Hook and Miller and Abu Akleh, shitting hells it’s never going to end-

viv-hollande jumped to a conclusion that was informed by a narrative, and proceeded to waste several hours angrily arguing with an Israeli Tumblr user and stubbornly denying credible evidence and what he was seeing with his own eyes because of a narrative, much of which he read about but did not live through. There remain many questions about what happened at al-Ahli Arab Hospital, but the preponderance of evidence has fallen on the side of a Palestinian misfire. If you think that the evidence provided by over a dozen governments, media outlets, and independent analysts was all fabricated on the orders of Puppet-master Bibi, stop. You’re being an antisemite. Please learn from my fuckup.

The above statement mostly applies to the world worth of spectators to this conflict and not to Israelis and Palestinians themselves. For those who lived through those events, or who have family who lived through them, there is obviously a direct personal connection to that history which, on a human scale at least, really isn’t that old. There are survivors of both the Holocaust and the Nakba still around.

I also want to re-emphasize, just in case it got lost in the sludge, that the above statement concerns the history of the Israel-Palestine conflict, not current events. Even for those far removed from the conflict, witnessing the ongoing bloodshed in real time is still a traumatic experience that is bound to provoke strong emotional responses and influence people’s position on the wider conflict. Narrative or no, seeing dead children is going to have an effect on you.

With that out of the way, on to the actual pro-Israeli narrative. In no small part due to less exposure, I am less confident in my analysis of the pro-Israeli narrative than I am of the pro-Palestinian narrative, especially as it pertains to Americans arguing online. But, I have divined a few significant main points.

One of the most important parts of the pro-Israeli point of view is that of a siege narrative. The Israeli narrative holds that the state of Israel has existed under the threat of existential annihilation since its inception. I have also seen in many places a direct conflation of the military and political threats to Israel’s existence with the wider history of antisemitism and specifically with the Holocaust. This goes all the way up to Benjamin Netenyahu himself, who falsely claimed, among other wrong things, that it was the Grand Mufti of Palestine who convinced Hitler to order the Holocaust. This statement was roundly condemned by basically everyone, whether Jewish, Israeli, or Palestinian, for good reason. It’s tantamount to Holocaust denialism.

The pro-Israeli narrative fundamentally denies the legitimacy and/or existence of Palestinian identity and a Palestinian state. In many cases, it denies the Palestinian right to a state in Palestine at all. This stance is directly related to the perceived necessity for a Jewish-majority Israel, and serves to facilitate the forced removal of the Palestinians from Israel and Palestine. In addition to being morally abhorrent, this stance represents a fundamental obstacle to a negotiated end to the conflict. While I can’t prove it, I very much suspect that some, especially the loudest deniers of Palestinian identity, are aware of this and continue to do so intentionally to undermine peace and facilitate Israel’s continued expansion at Palestinian expense.

For Americans, especially after 9/11, the narrative of the Israel-Palestine conflict has been folded into the wider narrative of the War on Terror. Israel-Palestine and the War on Terror are connected, but that connection is a lot more complicated than the American narrative, which, in its own racist, uninformed way, can’t tell the difference between Palestians, Arabs, Muslims, Iranians, Afghans, and the completely uninvolved Sikhs, several of whom nevertheless were attacked and killed by racist, overzealous American “patriots”. This conflation degrades the conversation around the Israel-Palestine conflict and reduces the legitimacy of the Palestinian cause. And while this last bit is essentially unfalsifiable conjecture, I suspect that the collapse of the War on Terror, and the changing narratives around it, plays a part in why the reaction to the current war has been substantially more pro-Palestinian than past flare ups.

As you can see, Israel and its advocates are guilty of many of the same tactics and narrative techniques that I criticized so fervently among Palestinians. The biggest, and most infuriating, has been the consistent denial of Palestinian identity and insistence that Jews/Israelis are the one and only true indigenous people in Israel and Palestine, and the consistent delegitimization of any Palestinian state. This attitude has no doubt played a significant role in prolonging and extending the conflict, and with it the suffering of the Palestinian people. For more details on that suffering, let us now turn to…

Israel & War Crimes

“Israel is definitely committing a campaign of forced displacement, possibly amounting to ethnic cleansing, but I remain unconvinced of the crime of genocide,” - viv-hollande

The above statement in my previous post generated some pushback. I expected this, and planned to dedicate a whole section of the longer essay to supporting this claim, and elaborate on my meaning. Here is that. Oh, and full disclosure, this is probably the most pedantic that I am going to get in this, and I fully expect that that will piss people off for eminently understandable reasons. Nevertheless here I go.

I would like to start by recalling the first of my establishing points: words have meanings, some words have very specific meanings, and it is important to use words with specific meanings correctly or else risk the degradation and dilution of the words themselves. Meaningless words are useless. With that out of the way:

Genocide, as defined by the Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide, is defined as any of five acts committed with intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnic, racial, or religious group. The five acts are:

Killing members of the group;

Causing serious bodily or mental harm to members of the group;

Deliberately inflicting upon group conditions of life calculated to bring about its physical destruction in whole or in part;

Imposing measures intended to prevent births within the group;

Forcibly transferring children of the group to another group.

So, we’ve clearly seen evidence of four of the five acts which potentially constitute a genocide, so why am I opposed to its use? The answer is intent. This is an issue that has been raised by others online, and the response is always a mix of a) harping on definitions while thousands of Palestinians are being murdered obscures their suffering and allows Israel to act unchallenged and b) here is the evidence that Israel intends to commit genocide. Addressing those in reverse order:

I have seen many posts with supposed evidence of Israeli intent to commit genocide. But when they are coagulated, they look less like an actual argument and more like a conspiracy board filled with singular quotes, out-of-context statements, and tweets from some random Israeli expressing dehumanizing, borderline genocidal sentiments. I’m sorry, but this is not evidence of intent. Neither is pointing to Gaza, saying, “Look at what is going on! This clearly shows intent”. It doesn’t. Is a genocide happening in Gaza right now? Maybe. Its unsatisfying and frustrating, but intent is something that will likely be impossible to prove or disprove without access to Israeli government documents. It is classified meeting minutes that will prove or disprove intent, not tweets from Israeli bloggers.

If you are angry at me for harping on definitions and technicalities, that’s understandable. But remember, words have meanings. I am not convinced that a genocide is happening in Gaza. But d’ya wanna know what is happening?

War crimes. Crimes against humanity. Ethnic cleansing. Forced displacement. Criminally disproportionate military action. Killing and targeting of journalists. Attacks on medical workers and facilities. Attacks on shelter areas. Attacks on UN workers and facilities.

All of these are crimes. In a just world, their perpetrators would be spending the rest of their lives behind bars. They are barbarous acts of cruelty that should be condemned, regardless of whether or not they meet the qualifications of being an act of genocide.

Israel’s attacks on Palestinian water sources is a crime, regardless of whether or not they were committed with genocidal intent.

Involuntary detention of children without charge is a crime, regardless of whether or not they were committed with genocidal intent.

Indiscriminate bombings of civilians are crimes, regardless of whether or not they were committed with genocidal intent.

The Israeli-Egyptian blockade of the Gaza Strip, both before and after the 7 October attacks, is a crime, regardless of whether or not they were committed with genocidal intent.

The word genocide is used on this platform like a fire alarm. Pull here to warn people about oppression and mass slaughter. But genocide, like all of the other crimes mentioned above, is a word that has a meaning, a definition. That definition is imperfect, but it is what we have to work with. Using these terms specifically and correctly is important.

It feels sometimes that discussion around atrocities turns into a matter of genocide or nothing. People treat the usage of more accurate and specific, but ‘less severe’ terms as a form of denialism. It is that attitude that makes discussing these supposedly ‘less severe’ crimes incredibly difficult. ‘Cause guess what!

Every single one of the crimes listed above is a barbarous crime, and you should fight and condemn every last one of them with the same fervor as you should genocide. None of them are tolerable, none of them are lesser. They are, one and all, abominable acts of criminal violence. The overuse of the term genocide makes it harder to effectively fight all of the others and perpetrates a narrative, consciously or not, that its a matter of genocide or bust.

Hamas & Revolution

The Islamic Resistance Movement, more commonly known by its Arabic acronym Hamas, is in my estimation the most militarily and politically powerful Palestinian organization in the world. Although its stated goals have changed several times over the years, Hamas has generally characterized itself as a defender of Palestinian nationalism, an advocate for Palestinian liberation, and an opponent to Israel, colonialism, and imperialism.

Hamas is also an aspirationally genocidal terrorist organization, and every time I see expressions of support for them you should feel sick. I certainly do.

Open expressions of support for Hamas have been rare, but far from zero. Most of those who do support Hamas uncritically accept the premise that Hamas is an anti-colonial revolutionary resistance organization fighting against Zionist occupation. This post is way too long and my deadline is rapidly approaching, so instead of breaking down all of that, let us assume, for the sake of argument, that that statement is true. Even if true, none of that prevents Hamas from also being an antisemitic, aspirationally genocidal terrorist organization.

One of the basic assumptions of the anti-colonialist narrative is that colonized=good, colonizer=bad. This flattens nuanced and complicated conflicts and leads to the excusing and justifying of criminal acts on the basis that they were committed in pursuit of a just cause.

Anti-colonialist struggles are justified according to the right of self-determination. Many of them nevertheless committed criminal acts.

There is a tendency to treat conflicts, past and present, less as actual events and more like culture wars. It has become fashionable to condemn the United States by rote, to shout “Up the Ra”, without actually addressing the reality of the situation one is commenting on. As an example of what I mean, take Morocco. Last year, Morocco was briefly appointed as the symbolic standard-bearer of anti-imperialism for… winning football matches against tHe DrEaDeD cOlOnIzErS. Today, Morocco is imperialist persona non grata and traitor to the Palestinian cause. Neither of these judgments were made because of the practical, on the ground reality of decolonization, anti-imperialism, or the Palestinian cause. These judgments were made because of the narrative of anti-colonialism. If the actions of Morocco, or anyone else for that matter, work in favor of the narrative of anti-colonialism, then they are lauded. If their actions contradict that narrative, they are condemned. Are there important geopolitical implications of Morocco’s decision to support Israel in exchange for support in Western Sahara? Yes, of course. Realistically speaking, they will probably be minor and mostly symbolic. Morocco isn’t sending soldiers to help occupy Gaza, and Israel won’t be sending soldiers to support the conquest of Western Sahara. Does any of that matter to users on www.tumblr.com? No.

To the supporters of Hamas, I don’t have a lot to say here. Hamas has been open about its antisemitism, and both Hamas leaders and official Hamas statements have openly called for genocide against Israelis, and sometimes Jews more broadly. Hamas engages in blatant conspiracism and has gleefully spread stories about a Jewish-controlled globalist shadow government trying to bring about the NWO. While they did officially amend their charter in 2017 to state that their fight is with the “Zionist enemy” rather than the Jewish people writ large, I find it difficult to believe that they are being honest with their intentions, and even if they are, the 7 October attacks show that they consider Israeli civilians as part of the “Zionist enemy” and thus fair game.

River & Sea

In my previous post, I made the assertion that the popular pro-Palestinian slogan, “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free,” is an antisemitic slogan. As I expected, I got some pushback on this, but have no fear, I have a qualified justification.

Slightly modified, I uphold the statement that, as a practical matter, in the year 2023 “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free” is a de facto antisemitic statement.

To fully explain what I mean here, and to address some of the confusion that I have seen with regards to the history of the statement. Shoutout to @starsakura17 and @screaming-weevil for having a conversation about the term and trying to research the history of the phrase to better inform themselves. That’s something we all, including me, should do more often on more topics.

As far as I can discern, the origins of the “River to the sea” part of the phrase are unknown, but Zionist sentiments about creating a state between the Jordan River to the Mediterranean Sea actually predate the First Arab-Israeli War and may predate Mandatory Palestine. The phrase first became associated with the Palestinian cause in the 1960s, when it was used to express opposition to the partition of Palestine and support for a single state in Palestine. How exactly this state was envisioned varied dramatically, but even back then, the 1964 PLO Charter expressly excluded the mostly Jewish immigrants to Palestine from their definition of Palestinians. Gee, where have I heard that before. Now, the PLO do not and did not speak for all Palestinians, and there were many Palestinians and Israelis who advocated for a single state that would be democratic and secular, thus creating a free Palestine between the Jordan River and the Mediterranean Sea. Thusly, if you asked me in the 1960s whether the phrase, “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free” is antisemitic, I would say no, but I would probably note that it is used by antisemites and caution you to be careful with your usage.

However, it is no longer the 1960s, and the usage and users of the phrase have shifted over time. The most important change is the rise of Islamic militant groups, most of whom have adopted the phrase as a call to destroy Israel and purge Palestine of Israelis and/or Jews. In addition, the geopolitical landscape of Israel and Palestine has changed. In the early 1960s, when the land between the river and the sea was under total occupation by Israel, Jordan, and Egypt, and when the idea of a single, secular, democratic state was at least theoretically possible, non-antisemitic usage of “From the river to the sea” was both possible and fairly common. There were individuals and organizations with actual influence on both sides that could have or did try to lead the charge for this exact solution. In 2023, that is no longer the case.

When I see people using the phrase “From the river to the sea”, my first question is how will that happen? Who will end up in charge of the land from river to sea? Remember, words have meaning, and political slogans do not exist in a vacuum. In the year 2023, there is only one organization with the political clout, popular support, and military might even hope to create a free Palestine stretching from the river to the sea: Hamas. Barring an externally imposed settlement, there is no other entity that could feasibly achieve such a state. You saw what they did on 7 October; what do you think their plan is for the rest of the Jews in Israel?

If you object to my connection between “From the river to the sea” and Hamas ruling over the whole of Israel and Palestine, then go ahead. Tell me how, exactly, a free Palestinian state from river to sea can be created without giving Hamas free access to the people they openly want to exterminate.

Regardless of its origin, regardless of your intention when you say it, “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free” is a statement that has been proudly adopted by the most virulent and violent antisemites on the Palestinian side. Whatever its intention, it is at best a slogan with a confused and muddy history that is deeply linked with antisemitism; at worst it is incitement to genocide.

SO STOP USING IT. Any slogan that has to be regularly qualified with “but not in an antisemitic way” is a slogan that you should not use. There are better, non-antisemitic slogans already in use; you do not need to cling desperately to this one.

While I’m here, I may as well address the phrase “Free Palestine from Hamas”. Like “From the river to the sea”, it's a theoretically neutral or even positive slogan. However, I see it most commonly used by those who vocally support the ongoing, indiscriminate destruction of Gaza and slaughter of the people living there. Whatever your intention, this phrase is associated with those who believe that any action is justifiable as long as it might possibly kill even a single Hamas member.

Conclusion

“If I had more time, I would have written a shorter letter, or at least a more coherent one.” - viv-hollande

If you made it this far, you have my respect. I’ve said a lot here, probably too much. I am sure it means something; I am not sure if it means anything significant.

A lot of people are probably mad at me right now. Some of that is probably fair. Some of it is probably not.

I had someone accuse me of being “fundamentally unserious” under my last post, which is a very weird and kind of funny thing to say to a teenager.

I’m really struggling with how to finish this, ‘cause I am well and truly running low on steam, and I have French homework that I’ve been putting off. I’ve scrapped, like, three entire sections that I either didn’t have time to finish, or that I felt were even more poorly written than the rest of this incoherent mess. Maybe I’ll turn them into dedicated posts.

As a final conclusion: The Israel-Palestine conflict has been saddled with millions of uninvolved rubberneckers who all seem to have a lot to say about every aspect of it. As humans tend to do, these bystanders have created narratives of war and struggle, of oppression and revolution. It is these narratives, shaped by history, but also by biases, bigotries, personal values, and misinformation. We choose a good side, and subsume that side into our own personal in-group. We excuse the faults in our allies, and exaggerate or fabricate faults in our enemies. The Palestinian cause categorically dismisses the Jewish right to a secure homeland. The de facto leaders of Gaza are aspirational génocidaires. The pro-Palestinian cause as a whole doesn’t care to consider the fate of the Israelis, millions of who were born and raised in Israel and have nowhere else to go. Simultaneously, the Israelis deny the suffering of the Palestinian people, wherever they may reside. Many current and past leaders of Israel are war criminals, and few, if any, of them will be brought to justice. Make no mistake, this is not a case of “both sides”. As the stronger party to the conflict, backed by the strongest nation on Earth, Israel has had most of the power to choose the timeline for the end to the conflict. As it stands, it seems more and more likely that that end will result in the final, irrevocable extinguishing of the dream of a Palestinian state. That end would be a tragedy, and it would be a crime.

If you’re not sick of me telling you what to do at this point, you have the patience of a fucking saint. To those still here, I say this: condemn antisemitism, Islamophobia, and bigotry wherever they occur; all conflicts have long, complicated histories that get flattened by the desire to ‘pick a side’; exact language, used specifically, is a delicate, precious thing that must be safeguarded; Israel’s crimes in Gaza, whether they qualify as a campaign of genocide, rank as some of the worst committed in decades, and the western political establishment’s tacit acceptance and endorsement of that campaign of horrors is, in and of itself, criminal and immoral, and both should be fought with as much energy as you can possibly spare.

Fuck Bibi, and all those who enable him. Fuck Hamas. Fight war crimes. Ceasefire now. Free Palestine.

A Message To Israelis and Palestinians

I struggled the most with what to say here. As I’ve repeatedly said, this post is intended not for you, but for the crowds of virtual bystanders to the incomprehensible crimes being committed in Israel and Gaza. As someone with, as they say, no skin in the game, I feel uncomfortable addressing you in a way I generally don’t when confronting my peers. I don’t know if you want or need the perspective of yet another rubbernecker, especially when what I do have to say is so insubstantial. But I would feel remiss if I didn’t acknowledge the people over whose heads I have been shouting for so long. So, for the final time, here goes.

I am so sorry for what you are going through. To the Israelis, to those living in fear of rocket attacks and suicide bombers, and especially to those who lost loved ones in the 7 October attacks, or who are living in limbo hoping and praying for the release of the hostages, I express my deepest condolences. To the Palestinians of the West Bank, who have suffered the encroachment and aggression of Israeli settlers and Occupation soldiers, and who must soldier on through the ever-tightening vice of apartheid, your resilience inspires me and your suffering devastates me. To the Palestinian refugees, who have been driven out of their homeland and now must wait endlessly for a return that may never come, please know that you are in my heart. And finally to the Palestinians of the Gaza Strip, who have been subjected to years of indignity, abuse, and violence, who have endured overwhelming, disproportionate, and indiscriminate retaliation for every terrorist provocation, who have been starved, bombed, shot, beaten, and brutalized in ways that I, sheltered as I am, could never possibly imagine, and who are at this very moment deep in mourning over the thousands and thousands of parents, children, siblings, cousins, friends, uncles, grandparents, nieces, nephews, acquaintances, colleagues, and everything in between, I offer you have my most sincere apologies and my grief at your losses, pale as they must be in comparison to your own. I don’t know if they’ll help, but they’re really all I’ve got.

I wish I could offer you hope. I wish I could offer you a solution. I wish I could do something, anything, that would actually have a meaningful impact on any of this. But I can’t. I’m sorry.

#long post #really long post #israel palestine conflict #i/p conflict #i/p #israel gaza war #antisemitism #islamophobia #war crimes #crimes against humanity #ethnic cleansing #viv lectures #fuck bibi #fuck hamas #free palestine #ceasefire now #kicking the hornet's nest #and the bee's nest

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ismelinor · 2 years ago

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Who did it better? (1/2)

Read on AO3 | tagging @today-in-fic | word count: 2,035

Summary: When things aren’t adding up following the events of Dreamland, Mulder and Scully look for evidence of what happened. They find the CCTV footage of them leaving Kersh’s office… i.e. a contrived situation which allows Mulder and Scully to watch ‘Mulder’ slap Scully on the butt.

It started small, with two coins fused together and a general sense of wrongness. The term was vague and un-scientific, and she’d never hear the end of it if she said it to Mulder – but nevertheless, something was just off.

It was like…when you wake up from the deepest of deep sleeps (which was a distant dream to her – when was the last time she’d woken to anything other than an alarm, the phone ringing, or Mulder pounding at her door?) and it takes a few minutes to remember who and where you are. She’d felt like that walking away from the confrontation at Area 51: What was she doing there? Who was the man standing next to her? What day was it?

Only – the feeling hadn’t quite faded the way it usually did after a shower and a cup of coffee. No, everything still felt…out of focus.

And then there were the odd little knick-knacks that kept appearing. The fused dime and penny was weird enough, but then she found a handful of sunflower seeds in the pocket of her overcoat – and then a folded up paper doily, stamped Little A’le Inn, Rachel – and then, the kicker, a receipt for a pack of Morleys from a gas station in Nevada tucked into her drawer, when she knew she and Mulder hadn’t stopped on their way back. She called the bank to query the expense: they had no record of the payment. None of it made any sense.

~~~

It would have taken Scully a long time to admit out loud that a few sunflower seeds and errant receipts here and there were making her question reality. Fortunately, Mulder had no such qualms. He pulled her aside after lunch one day, and launched right into it: “Scully, I think we’ve experienced some sort of time jump.”

Scully just blinked at him.

“It’s not unheard of, you know. There’s several well-documented cases in the files: individuals who unaccountably knew what was going to happen, or claimed to have brought items from the past or the future.” Off the look she was giving him, he added, “Need I remind you that you’re the one with a thesis defending the possibility of time travel?”

He’d brought it up enough times that she had little hope of forgetting it. She sighed. “What makes you think we’ve travelled in time?”

“Ever since we got back from Area 51, I’ve been finding these…these relics of a week I know I didn’t live. My apartment’s all cleaned up – I’ve got a waterbed now – yesterday I found a pair of handcuffs on my pillow.” Scully raised an eyebrow. He leaned forward with a smirk. “Come on, Scully, I might forget a little spring cleaning, but you know I wouldn’t forget handcuffs.”

Scully tried to bite back her smile. “Those have all happened to you, Mulder, and frankly they sound like symptoms of early-onset dementia. You said we experienced a time jump. How am I involved?”

“Scully, I’ve seen you take those coins out of your drawer a hundred times today alone. Tell me you’re not finding things too.”

She wasn’t ready to concede yet, so she said, “These could all be accounted for by someone playing a strange prank on us. Why are you so ready to believe it’s time travel?”

“When I focus on these objects, I start to remember the other timeline. It’s fuzzy, but it’s there: I remember going inside Area 51, Scully. It was like I was living someone else’s life for a week. There were these bratty teenagers – I think I had a wife, even. It was awful. The problem is, I get this headache every time I try to remember.”

Scully sighed. “It’s the power of suggestion, Mulder. You already had this theory, and now your mind is filling in the gaps.”

Mulder grinned. “I have proof. Well, the lone gunmen have proof, but I’m going over this evening to check it out. They called me just now because their systems registered an anomaly: a blip in the CCTV recording of their office. When they looked over the footage from yesterday, they saw you and me talking to them for almost half an hour. Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m fairly sure I was eating pizza on my couch all yesterday evening.”

Scully raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Come on, Mulder. It’s far more likely that they mixed up the footage from yesterday with another day.”

“They’re not just pretty faces, Scully: they’re tech experts. Don’t you trust their abilities?”

“Trust them? Mulder, they’re the most paranoid, delusional people I’ve ever met. Byers I might listen to, but Langley and Frohike think they’re living out James Bond, when-”

“When they’re a little more Revenge of the Nerds?” Mulder finished.

Scully grimaced. He wasn’t wrong.

“What, you don’t like that one?”

“Mulder, I’m a woman with a PhD in physics. If I wanted to see angry, sexually aggressive nerds, I’d open my yearbook.”

Mulder laughed delightedly. “Alright, Scully, just pretend you agree with me for a minute. Focus on the coin and see if you remember anything.”

She huffed but closed her eyes. That coin was strange: like two objects trying to occupy the same space – a perversion of the most basic laws of physics. And, casting her mind back, it was like…like two memories were trying to occupy the same space in her hippocampus. “I remember…I think I remember a gas station…and sitting with you in Kersh’s office…you were acting strange…and, oh, I remember going over to your place…huh, I remember your bedroom, and the handcuffs-” She opened her eyes wide to take in Mulder’s expression, already shifting from surprise to a smirk. She blushed; damn her complexion, never hid anything. “Not like that. I handcuffed you to the bed-” Mulder raised an eyebrow and she reddened even more. “Not like that. You weren’t…you.”

None of it made sense. Her memory must be confused: yes, just like Mulder, she must be creating false memories out of the objects they’d found. Her head was pounding all of a sudden.

Mulder hummed. “Well, if video tape captures this…alternate version of events, why don’t we check out the CCTV here? You said we were in Kersh’s office: maybe we can catch us leaving.”

Scully was too curious to argue, so she followed him up to the security office. It didn’t take much to convince the guard on duty to look out the tapes for them – which was slightly concerning, actually. When he came back to the desk, he was frowning. “There’s two tapes of the sixth floor corridor from Tuesday. I don’t know how they got mixed up.”

Mulder shrugged, taking them both. Scully thanked the guard and followed Mulder to the lift.

“We can’t watch these in the bullpen, or we’ll get questions. My place or yours?”

“Yours. But we’re waiting till after work, Mulder. We’re on thin enough ice as it is: I’m not risking suspension over a weird coin and a pair of handcuffs.”

Mulder sighed like the petulant child he was but took his seat anyway. Back to piles of manure.

~~~

Sitting by his side on Mulder’s leather couch, Scully could almost pretend that they were normal people. When he held out the two tapes for her to choose between, she could imagine that he was letting her pick a movie: that he’d put the tape in, grab them beers from the fridge, and they’d lounge around and laugh at the bad special effects.

But no, of course not. They were examining unethically obtained CCTV footage to investigate whether there had been a rip in the space-time continuum. A much more sensible use of her Friday afternoon. She pointed to Mulder’s right hand and he put the tape in. The time stamp read 13:00, Tuesday. They watched as grainy FBI agents rushed up and down the hall, a few familiar faces here and there. Mulder picked up the remote and put the tape on 2x, then 5x speed. The agents zoomed every which way, but there was no sign of Mulder or Scully. The only people to walk in or out of Kersh’s office were his secretary and Kersh himself. Nada.

Mulder switched the tapes. 13:00, Tuesday, again. The same camera angle. It even looked to be the same agents bustling down the corridor – Scully spotted Stonecypher at 13:14, just like in the first tape. Huh. Someone must have copied the tape: it was strange, but not outside the realm of possibility. But then-

Scully stared at the screen incredulously: Mulder was right. There they were, walking out of Kersh’s office at 13:35, when Scully knew for a fact that they’d never been to that meeting. How the hell was that possible? They sat forward on the sofa simultaneously. On the screen, they stopped just outside the office. It was hard to read their expressions in the grainy image, but it looked like Scully was giving him a dressing down. Mulder walked back into the office and Scully threw up her hands in frustration, clearly watching him through the doorway. After a few moments, Mulder walked out again and – and –

Scully sputtered out “Did you just-” at the same time as Mulder’s “Did I just-”. She wheeled on him, flushed with disbelief and anger. “You just slapped me on my ass!”

Mulder put his hands up like she was pointing a gun at him – and there was an idea – and coughed up a rather pathetic barrage of “No – I didn’t”s and “I wouldn’t”s. And then – he started to laugh.

She gaped at him in outrage, a perfect match for her doppelganger on the screen. He attempted to rein in his laugher.

“No, no, I’m sorry. It’s not funny – it’s just – I mean, come on, Scully, there’s no way you can think that’s really me.”

Scully narrowed her eyes at him, but – well, he had a point. Mulder could be a flirt – he was incorrigible, really – but he’d never crossed the line. Even when it really, really seemed like he would. Given the two tapes with the same time stamp, the strange objects popping up and the confused state of their memories – yes, she was willing to concede that the Mulder on the tape might not be (for lack of a better word) her Mulder.

Still, she wasn’t letting him off the hook that easily. “What are the chances that two different people are somehow able to impersonate you perfectly? And what are the chances that they both use this fantastical power to hit on me?”

Mulder raised an eyebrow in an expression she assumed was meant to convey: oh, we’re talking about Eddie now, are we?

She raised an eyebrow right back at him: serves you right for laughing, asshole.

“Well, Scully, once you’ve eliminated the impossible, and all that.”

“I think we have different definitions of impossible, Mulder. I’d call two separate men with uncanny shapeshifting abilities pretty impossible.”

Mulder grinned and she nudged his shoulder to let him know she’d forgiven him. For now.

“I don’t think we’re gonna get any more from the CCTV, and thinking about it is hurting my head,” said Mulder. “I’m going over to Byers’ to check out their tape. You wanna join?”

If anyone had told Scully six years ago that she’d be happy – excited, even – to spend her Friday evenings drinking cheap beer and debating the likelihood of time travel with four conspiracy nuts, she’d have laughed in their face. Today, though, she just ducked her head and smiled.

“If we can pick up food on the way. I’m never eating Langley’s cooking again.”

Mulder handed over her coat. As they left his apartment, he turned to her and asked, “For future reference, who did it better, Eddie or Tape Guy?”

Sculled rolled her eyes. He had nerve, she’d give him that. “I’d prefer a bottle of wine to a slap on the ass, if that’s what you’re asking.” Mulder smirked. “But, for future reference, you do it better than either of them.”

That wiped the smirk off his face.

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onewomancitadel · 2 years ago

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I had Best Mate over here the other day and we were discussing romance, and part of what obfuscates the question of 'romance' is that altogether, romance really encompasses at least four different things (list pending):

Romance book genre (literature)

Romance (character as boon/reward - what most people think of after romance books)

Romance in genre fiction (character- and plot-motivated)

Romantic comedies

I said 'at least four' for this: Whatever Austen and Jane Eyre qualify as (classics), even if grouped with the romance book genre nominally (similarly: character- and plot-motivated with major theses)

It does make the question rather difficult, because you have a codified genre with very, very specific narrative beats to hit; something that almost could not passably be called 'romance' in any true-to-life sense; romance realising 'higher' narrative stakes; romcoms which are kind of like romance novels but kind of not (almost always about external circumstances); and the lattermost which are treated less seriously as higher literature (or, as I've been reading recently in regards to Jane Eyre, the romance is viewed as character regression for Jane and something which brings the novel down, or for Wuthering Heights, Cathy and Heathcliff are 'obviously toxic' undercutting the tragedy).

Clearly the issue here is that romance is a complicated and near-universal human experience and relation (note, near) which can realise many different ideas, and touch people in many different ways, and is elastic narratively. So, what is it that makes romance good as a genre, versus what makes romance eye-roll worthy in an action film, versus what makes romcoms cheesy or contrived, versus what makes Pride & Prejudice tick, etc. Can we talk about all of these the same way? Are we always talking about the same thing? When romance is derided as a genre, are all of these things being condemned, or only things like 'character as boon' where female characters are treated like objects?

Issue with romance novels don't map onto issues with love interests as boon but issues with love interests as boon do map onto romance in genre fiction and the perception of romance in genre fiction is coloured by the social perception of romcoms ('chick flicks') and there is, in general, a relative unserious treatment of romance in the broader discourse, particularly from a structural perspective. Romance novels are so highly codified that to criticise them in any way is to effectively criticise their entire existence and reading base, and the enjoyment of romance is associated with an enjoyment of guilty indulgence, the one place you get a guarantee for happy endings - and serious treatment is expected to undercut this. (I don't agree). So on the one hand, you have the general disregard for romance (gross, overdone, inevitable, *eyeroll*, it's not that serious, it reduces their characters down to nothing) to the sense of self-protection the biggest fanbase has regarding romance.

But I'm forgetting shipping fandoms, because they're kind of their own beast, and usually self-identify as distinct from 'romance novel readers', and the fanfic romance is kind of its own genre. Shipping is usually contrived as canon-as-a-playpen or serious canon reading, but by in large I think that discussing fandom is a whole different topic (that I've covered plenty of times) even if it does somewhat influence this topic. Shipping is considered silly and relatively unserious as a byproduct of romance being silly in general, and fanfic has its own mores which have ended up influencing romance novels in a reversal.

Nevertheless, my overall point that romance is a chimera of many genres which makes conversation as well as criticism difficult still stands. Of course, my evolving thesis is that no matter what, it is character and character transformation that matters above all at a very base level. I don't think it's unsurprising that for all that plot is prioritised above character, overwhelmingly, and there is a lot of bad surrounding theory relating character to plot and plot to character (and even in ostensibly 'character-building' advice, it is more like an RPG than anything thematically- or plot-justified), romance, which almost entirely relies upon character, is misunderstood.

#on romance once again

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nicklloydnow · 2 years ago

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Peak Experience

“I was going to write a book about Schumacher just before he died - I feel that his ideas were a natural extension, in a social direction, of my own work.

I had always been preoccupied with the problem of the person who stands alone in a society that he feels to be too big and too impersonal. This was the basic theme of The Outsider.

Somewhere in The Outsider I say that I feel the Outsider dislikes the whole idea of civilization itself, because it destroys the sense of individuality. That is, of course, a deliberate overstatement. And yet, lecturing in America not long after The Outsider came out, I was struck by the awful impersonality of the universities, where in many cases the classes were so big that the students had to sit in other rooms watching the lecture on a TV monitor. I could see clearly that it must be almost impossible for many of these students to get that personal, individual feeling that could develop into creativity.

Because this, it seems to me is the fundamental aim of civilization. This is what it is about. It is an attempt to promote creativity in the individual, because this is the highest thing of which the individual is capable.

In the late 1950s, I received a letter from the American psychologist Abraham Maslow, who was writing to me about a book of mine called The Age of Defeat. Maslow said that I was attacking the same problem that had obsessed him for years: that our civilization has a kind of premise of defeat - that our art, our literature, our culture seems to spring from the notion that ultimately the individual cannot make much of an impression on the civilization; he is helpless, a mere member of the crowd.

Maslow also sent me some of his papers. I must admit that when I read heir rather academic titles, I delayed reading them for a long time. When I did start to read one of the papers, about six months later, I was immediately excited by Maslow's central thesis, which was this: that psychologists are always studying sick people, because sick people are always talking about their sickness, while nobody had ever thought of studying healthy people, because healthy people never talk about their health. Maslow argued that we would do better to study the healthy. He enquired among his friends, asking, 'Who is the healthiest person you know?' And then he proceeded to study a number of these healthy people, and was amazed to discover something that no one had ever discovered before, because no one had ever thought of studying healthy people: that is, most of them appeared to experience with a fair degree of frequency what Maslow called 'peak experiences'. These were just sudden bubbling, overwhelming moments of happiness. they were not in any sense mystical experiences. A young mother was watching her husband and kids eating breakfast, when suddenly a beam of sunlight came in through the window, and she thought, 'Aren't I lucky', and went into the peak experience. A hostess who had just given a very successful party, looking around the room at the cigarette butts trampled into the carpet, and the wine spilled on the armchairs, nevertheless suddenly went into the peak experience. Maslow said that the peak experience seemed to characterize all healthy people. It was basically a sudden powerful surge of unconscious vitality. I was immensely struck by this, and wrote to Maslow about it. I ended by writing a book about him called New Pathways in Psychology.

As soon as I read Schumacher's Small is Beautiful, I could see that this was a logical extension of Maslow's ideas - that the healthy person is the person who does not feel overwhelmed by his environment. He doesn't feel helpless, he doesn't feel a cog in a machine; he preserves a sense of drive, of individuality and creativity. And clearly the problem for the whole civilization is this problem of how to keep things 'small' enough, so that as many people as possible can experience the sense of individuality.

I recognized that my own background in Leicester, my home town, had exercised a strong influence on me, largely because it was so claustrophobic and boring. And the same appears to be true of an enormous number of writers of the present century: James Joyce's Dublin, Bernard Shaw's Dublin, H. G. Wells's Lewisham, Arnold Bennett's Burslem, Proust's Combray - all very small places that enable their inhabitants to feel individual among other individuals. Of course, what it really amounts to is feeling yourself to be a small fish in a small pond. If you are a small fish in a big pond, you are bound to lack that sense of individuality. I recognized this when I first went to London at about the age of nineteen: the feeling of being completely lost in crowds - that if I was knocked down by a bus, nobody would care. Obviously, we all crave this sense of individuality. Now Maslow had recognized that human beings appear to evolve through a series of needs, or values; he called it ‘the hierarchy of needs.'

What he meant was this: that if a person was starving and had never had a square meal in his life, then he would dream about food and imagine that perfect happiness would be to have one really good meal every day. Yet if he achieved this, the next level would emerge: the need for security, for a roof over one's head. (This is why every tramp daydreams of a country cottage with roses round the door.) If he achieves this 'territorial' level, then the next level emerges: the need for love, for a feeling of belongingness, of intimacy with another person or persons. If these needs are satisfied too, says Maslow, then the next level emerges: the need for self-esteem, the need to be respected and liked by other people. This is the level at which women invite the neighbours to coffee mornings, and men join Rotary Clubs.

If the self-esteem level is thoroughly satisfied, then, said Maslow, the next level - with luck - emerges (and he said 'with luck' because, for some reason, many people do not appear to ever reach this level): this is the creative level, what Maslow called 'self-actualization'. By this, he didn't necessarily mean art or science or some other form of creativity. Self-actualization means doing something purely for the pleasure of doing it well. In one case he cited, a woman was particularly good at fostering children, and continued to do this when her own children were grown up. Another man was skilful at putting ships in bottles, and he did it brilliantly: obviously, this satisfied the self-actualizing need in him. Self-actualization seems to be the pinnacle of the hierarchy of needs.

Fortunately, in our society, most people have achieved the first three levels anyway - the basic needs for food, for security and for some kind of warm human relationship. The need that a majority of people have still not satisfied, and that becomes increasingly urgent in a society like ours, is the self-esteem need - the need, if you like, for some kind of 'recognition', if only by a very small group of neighbours and friends. And this is obviously one of the basic problems of our civilization, with its increasing tendency to de-individuation: self-esteem. It obviously cannot be satisfied if you are in such an enormous pond that you feel alienated from everybody else - in other words, if you feel a nobody.

This is what I identified in The Outsider as the basic Outsider problem. Now, it seemed to me that in recognizing that it is possible to decentralize society, to live in much smaller units, Schumacher had made an immensely important contribution. He had, of course, been anticipated by idealists like G. K. Chesterton and Hilaire Belloc, who called their political philosophy 'Distributism'; it was usually summarized in the phrase "Two acres and a cow'. Clearly, two acres and a cow would not solve the problems of the modern city-dweller. But Schumacher had seen that Distributism could be brought up to date - that we could live in a completely different kind of way. When I first came upon his ideas - in a television programme - they excited me so much because it was already clear to me that we have got to live in a completely different kind of way if we are to satisfy the basic human need for self-esteem. And, as Maslow said, unless we satisfy this need for self-esteem, it is impossible to move beyond it to the level of self-actualization - which would be the ideal level for society.” (pages 220 - 223)

“As Abraham Maslow’s biographer, I’m fascinated by the range of thinkers who influenced his psychological outlook. Among the most intriguing was the prolific British writer Colin Wilson. By the vagaries of fate or the subtle workings of destiny (take your pick), he was slated to write Maslow’s biography but forlornly abandoned it when Maslow suddenly died of a heart attack in 1970. Years later, inspired by Wilson’s books, including New Pathways in Psychology, based largely on Maslow’s ideas, I initiated the same project and happily completed it. In the meantime, we began corresponding actively about the man we both admired. Colin (we were soon on a first-name basis) was extremely generous in writing the lengthy foreword to Future Visions, Maslow’s key unpublished papers, which I edited and organized into a book that is still in print after 25 years.

(…)

Maslow initiated their relationship after reading Colin’s The Stature of Man (titled The Age of Defeat in its American edition). Delighting in its optimism about human potentiality (akin to the notion of self-actualization), Maslow sent him copies of his psychology articles. The two began a lively correspondence, repeatedly citing each other’s ideas in their ensuing books. Though both were intellectually-driven family men, they never became close friends, probably due to temperamental differences.

Maslow’s work on peak experiences, which Colin called “the secret of the next step in human evolution,” especially captivated him. He asserted that Maslow had scientifically proven that human consciousness has heights unimagined in conventional psychology and psychoanalysis—and that the joyful essence of peaks was central to their nature. Additionally, such mental states as apathy, boredom, and listlessness could now be understood as immature or faulty modes of consciousness—and, crucially in Colin’s worldview, quite correctible.

As for Maslow, he regarded Colin’s emphasis on the limited, limping quality of ordinary human consciousness as extremely insightful. In this context, he often cited Colin’s revelatory concept of the “St. Neot’s margin.”

Colin named it after the English village where his epiphany occurred: discovering while hitchhiking on a hot Saturday that not only had he been oblivious to his low-energy boredom, but that it could be overcome by an arousal of interest in one’s surroundings. In Colin’s case, such interest had arisen accidentally when two consecutive lorry drivers reported curious mechanical problems in their vehicles—” and suddenly my boredom and indifference (had) vanished.” This experience catalyzed Colin’s notion that most people habitually live far below their daily capacity for happiness, delight, and wonderment.

During Maslow’s final years, he became increasingly impressed with this notion, arguing therefore for the necessity of what he termed “cognitive re-freshening.” Such activity, he believed, could help sustain what he called plateau experiences, extended times of transcendent serenity. He also regarded re-freshening as vital for conquering lethargy toward loved ones. To do so, Maslow advised, it’s helpful to imagine that you’re seeing this person for the last time before death—a technique that probably emerged spontaneously after his initial major heart attack.”

#colin wilson #peak experience #abraham maslow #psychology #schumacher #e f schumacher

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googoojeu · 4 years ago

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love, that must be nice || park sunghoon x gn!reader

🎫 ;; you really don't hate sunghoon. you just don't find him interesting unlike your friends. yet here you are, harboring this small hatred for him, but it fades away as he messily tells you he loves you through a drunken confession.

📽 ;; fluff, (not really) friends to lovers!au, college student!sunghoon, college student!reader, cousin!heeseung

warnings ;; sunghoon's drunk, reader whacks sunghoon with a broom, blood, cursing, reader's roommate says reader is too ocd

🖋 ;; officially back! i'm working on a few requests rn but have a sunghoon imagine as a gift from me skskskks also changed a few things here lmao also the ocd part in this happens to me a lot sjdjdjd i just can't stand unorganized places

you don't remember letting your cousin in your apartment at exactly twelve am, with his very drunk friend by his side.

maybe because you were feeling generous you just had to let them in and not having them freeze to death outside. or maybe because you owe heeseung a big one for helping you with your thesis. you weren't really sure but nevertheless, heeseung was already making himself comfortable on your roommate's bed (you made a mental note to yourself to tell myungjoo to change her covers when she comes back next week). you glare at the boy and nodded your head to his friend, sunghoon, who was drop dead drunk on the couch.

"what are you gonna do about him?" heeseung peeks at you under the covers and sighs. "i don't know, just leave him there or something. his dorm room was too far anyways, you were my last resort." he says as he covers his head again. you stared at his figure huddled under your roommate's blanket. "seriously? why am i related to you?" you can hear his muffled chuckle under the covers. you were already closing the door when heeseung says, "please turn off the light when you go." gosh you didn't want to strangle someone so much until now.

you don't really hate sunghoon that much. he was fine. he was naturally nice and funny, he gets along with people well, but after months of knowing him (through heeseung of course), you really didn't deem him as an interesting person. sure he figure skates, but that's it. that's the only interesting thing he does.

did you really hate him though?

you stare at his sleeping figure on your couch. his chest rising up and down rhythmically, his lips slightly parted and his hair messy from all the partying he did. your friends would die to see this sight right now. you snapped out of your daze and head towards the kitchen. you silently cursed your roommate for leaving the broom by the water dispenser, it's place is always near the vacuum.

('you're too ocd (name)!' she says one day. 'well it's nice to be clean and organized once in awhile!' you say back. you don't miss her telling you this is the reason why you don't have a boyfriend. you ignored her for two weeks.)

you grabbed the broom and opened a drawer, taking an empty cup to pour yourself a glass of water. you were stressed enough and courtesy to your beloved cousin, he added another person for you to stress over. you decided you're just gonna wake sunghoon up and let him crash on your bed. you were about to turn when someone grabbed your shoulder. with a shriek, you whack the person with eyes closed.

"ow (name)!"

you opened your eyes to see sunghoon, hunched over in front of you, his hands covering his nose. "o-oh my god, i'm sorry sunghoon. i'll get an ice pack, go sit back on the couch." sunghoon obliges. you hurriedly take out an ice pack out of your freezer and a first aid kit and went to sunghoon. his nose was bleeding and you felt bad. you might hate the guy, but you didn't want to physically hurt him. you kneel in front of him and take the cotton pads out of the kit and started cleaning his nose. sunghoon winces as the contact of the pads hit his nose.

"sorry.." you say once again. he shakes his head. "it's okay, i scared you anyways..." he closes his eyes as you continue cleaning his nose. he says something under his breath but you couldn't quite catch it.

"what did you say sunghoon?"

"nothing." you tilt your head in confusion. he says something again, it's a bit louder this time, but his words were slurred. he's drunk (name), what were you expecting? you gently place the ice pack on his hands. "you can put it on your nose now sunghoon, i don't want to hurt it more." he opens his eyes and stares at you.

"why do you hate me (name)?"

you were caught off guard by the sudden question. you quickly thought of an excuse but your brain short circuited and it led to one of your conversations with a preppy high schooler named sunoo, that you tutored a couple of months back. you were once again frustrated over one of your acquaintances talking about sunghoon this and sunghoon that, you accidentally let it out on the said boy. sunoo playfully grins at you and tells you, "you don't hate him (name)! you're just mad, madly in love with him!" you just scoffed at him and reply with a, "yeah right." looking back at it now, no, you really didn't hate sunghoon.

"i don't hate you hoon, why would you think that?" you sighed, patting his shoulder reassuringly.

"it's because you don't look at me."

you furrowed your eyebrows. "i look at you what do y—"

"no! like look, look at me! you don't even talk to me! it really hurts because i really, really like you.... love you even... and heeseung hyung thinks it's stupid because you don't look at m—"

"wait sunghoon what did you say?"

"heeseung hyung thinks it's stupid—"

"no, the one before that..."

"that i love you?"

you sat there, mouth agape, the bloody cotton pads still in your possession. "what the fuck?" you managed to blurt out. "you're drunk!" you stared at him in disbelief. but, wasn't there a saying that 'drunk words are sober thoughts'? sunghoon simply shakes his head again, carefully placing the ice pack over his red nose. "i think i'm pretty sober at the moment. i didn't drink much anyways." you couldn't do anything but just stare at the boy. his cheeks were tinted with a soft shade of red that you can't help but simply smile at him.

"if you really do like me, i'm giving you a chance to ask me out tomorrow morning. when you're sober enough."

sunghoon's eyes lights up. "really?" you chuckled, "yeah." you gathered your trash and disposed them on the trash can and bid sunghoon a good night. you didn't see sunghoon's longing gaze on your back once you went inside your room.

the glare of the sun was the first to greet you the next morning. sighing, you reach for your phone and opened your messages. myungjoo was telling you that she's coming home early, chenle and jisung telling you to not forget about the fair the three of you were attending, sunoo asking for your help again and one message from an unknown number. you opened it and the first line made you sit up.

hey it's sunghoon! :)

i realized i didn't have your number so i kindly asked heeseung for it. if you think i forgot about our talk hours ago, i didn't! when does your class end? i'm taking you on a date today! if that offer is still up you know....

you smiled at the text. immediately sending him your schedule and a "see you later!" before getting ready for the day.

maybe, just maybe, you're really didn't hate sunghoon after all.

#i luv sunghoon #and i luv chenji lmao #enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen x reader #lee heeseung #jay park #park jongseong #jake sim #sim jaeyun #park sunghoon #kim sunoo #yang jungwon #ni-ki #nishimura riki #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #enhypen oneshots

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highsviolets · 4 years ago

Text

rushing decadence: ezra x gender neutral reader

summary: sunflower shows ezra just how much they missed him. part of the voice actor!ezra au but can be read as a stand-alone.

pairing: voice actor!ezra x gender neutral reader

warnings: 18+ only!!! ezra gets pegged, dirty talk, references to masturbation, use of “good boy,” implied feelings, cumplay, ezra truly deserves his own warning

word count: a lil baby, 1.4k+

a/n: took the morning off from thesis wrangling and wrote this instead, lmao. inspired by an ask from the lovely (and devious) @astroboots. no beta. gif credit: @holdingthornsandroses

speechless is not a word you would use to describe ezra. you suspect very few would — the man makes a living from spinning forth words from lips of honey, after all. they are his fortress, his realm, his fae. they are more inimical to his being: a constant force sweeping through wreckage and downy meadows alike.

looking down at him, a smile a crosses your face. it’s small smile, unconscious in its blossoming that tugs the corner of your mouth up, up, up — but only a little. only a little, lest all the fondness you feel for him spill out and pour all over him. you could coat his strong body in the potent stuff and still have more left over. he inspires excess in you and perhaps that should scare you; maybe it does. maybe it does scare you, and that is why you bite your lip to keep the gurgle of words that flood into your mouth at bay, lest your body fall prey to his liquor-filled emotions.

and yet: you have already fallen prey, already played the willing victim of sorts to his cunning and his wit and his seductive smile.

hunter & prey. you & ezra swirl between these roles with little effort. he is used to playing a role and he does so gladly, eager to give as much as he is take. spinning you stories from sugar-spun words, he matches them with his actions. (that is to say: when he says something he means it, loving you with his body as much as his prose).

no, speechless is not how you would describe ezra.

but right now he is dangerously close to such a thing. there is a word for that and you tell him so, cooing sweetly as you brush the matted hair off of his forehead.

“oh, look at you, ezra,” you say. “is my good boy cockdumb?”

consternation rises in his brow at the phrase, competitive to the last. “i do not believe that is the precise description of my current s-state,” he grunts, one hand fisting in the sheets. the veins pop and match the set of his jaw, the dash of his tongue across his swollen lower lip.

swollen from me, you think, a bright yellow glimpse of pride coloring the thought. this had started as your saturday mornings usually do: wrapped in his soft linen sheets caressed by his touch and the tender offerings of sun streaming through his window. it wasn’t long before you had straddled him and kissed him and rocked yourself against him until he was panting, asking if he might be of service to his sunflower. you had nipped his lower lip, then, soothing it with your tongue before ignoring his request. you wanted his moans in your ear today, not your own. his. he had been away too long for you to not miss his wanton cries.

you ask him what the right phrase would be, then, speaking delicately to match the slow grind of your hips into his.

“d-dumb implies” — he takes a deep breath as you notch against a sensitive spot deep inside him — “the inability to s-speak, dear heart.” ezra finishes the sentence with difficulty, letting the endearment run into a low moan. the movement pushes his head deeper into the pillow and exposes his neck, the jump of his pulse plainly visible. an urge to kiss it swoops over you, low and hot and you comply, leaning forward to latch onto the sensitive skin.

you slide out of him slightly with your forward movement and ezra whines. his broad hand settles on your hip while you suck; his grip fiercely digging into your skin as though he can’t decide if he wants to push you away or pull you closer.

releasing his neck, your lips drift to his jaw and nip. “what was that, ezra? i didn’t hear you.”

the smile in his voice is evident, bright tones washing over your back and landing between your legs. “give me reason,” ezra replies equally as coy, “and i assure you i shall have no qualms engaging in repetition.”

his voice, breathy and strung out from the tension in his body, doesn’t have the same edge it usually does. it causes a shiver to run down your spine all the same, fueling the rapacious ache of desire building in you as it builds in him, too.

shifting back down to settle once more between his legs, you reward him with shallow thrusts. not enough to give him what he wants, but enough to remind him that he can have it — if he only asks.

catching sight of his cock, you grin again. curled against his stomach, it’s leaking from the tip, clearly wanting for attention.

“remember when i recorded us, ezra?” you ask, still teasing him as your hips move lightly, just brushing in and out. “remember when i recorded us in the studio, and i came in your mouth?”

he nods, blonde streak catching in the sunlight and the grip constricts around your hip. move faster, he’s trying to say. if you did, you think, maybe you could get him to come untouched.

did you listen to it when you were gone; did you come in your hand thinking about the way i tasted? i did, ezra; i thought about you all the time, you tell him.

his responding cry gets caught in his throat before strangling free. “please,” he begs, lifting his hips to chase yours, desperate for increased friction.

“please what, ezra?” but the strain peeks through your voice as well, the words heavy and hot on your tongue; they’re languorous, almost, in their immutability.

more, he finally breathes. darkened eyes that nevertheless glimmer in the morning sun meet your own and you smile, pleased to finally give him what you both want.

your thrusts become deeper and your hips lock, refraining from the urge to be sloppy. there’s no need to; you can already tell that he’s close enough without your being wrecked, too.

instead, you focus on precision, shamelessly slamming your hips into him over and over again, rubbing that spot that makes him babble praise. “i’m — oh shit — i’m so full,” he manages to whisper, another moan accompanying the admission.

“so full on what, ezra?” you ask, starting to pant yourself with the effort. “be a good boy and say it.”

“fucking hell, sunflower,” he drawls, eyes fluttering shut, as though that will protect him from the sight of you fucking him with abandon. “so full on — so full on your cock, sweetheart.”

impatient, your hand raises nearly of its own volition and smears the precum across tip, drawing another ragged whine from his lips. a finger runs the length of the swollen vein and he twitches, stomach muscles tensing at your relentless pace, at the feel of your hands on him.

i listened to you all the time when you were gone, you tell him, pumping his length in time with your thrusts. i wanted you cum all over me again; i missed it; i missed you.

“my dear sunflower,” ezra says, half-pleading, half-whining, a shaken timbre to his words, “if you fail to cease your actions you will be rewarded with what you seek.”

but that’s what i want, ezra; i want you to cum; be a good boy and make a mess; let it spill all over; you’ve been so good for me; i know it feels so good, baby.

words are never ezra’s undoing — they are his lens — and that is what undoes him more than anything, more than the grind of your hips, more than your hands teasing his cock.

the image, your voice, your hands, your hips, your praise: it’s all too much for him to hold out and ezra comes with a shout to kevva, head tilting back once more as hot ropes of come shoot out over his stomach and dribble onto your hand.

easing out of him, you stay nestled between his legs and lift a hand to swirl a finger in the stuff, gathering it on your finger. feeling his molten, if sated, gaze on you, you bring the finger to your mouth, letting your tongue peek out to taste just a drop before engulfing the entire digit between your lips, swirling your tongue around the tip.

“even better than i remembered,” you tell him shakily. now that ezra has reached his satisfaction your own need has reared up and the ache between your legs gnaws low in your belly. the sight of his reaction to you doesn’t help either — his come smeared over his stomach, his cheeks flushed and eyes bright with pleasure.

as if sensing your need, ezra tugs your wrist away from your mouth and uses the leverage to bring you closer. “come here, sunflower,” he rasps. “now it is my turn to enjoy your cries.”

fin.

tags for the bastard boyfriend: @frannyzooey @clan-djarin @astroboots @softdin @freeshavocadoooo @princessxkenobi @keeper0fthestars @thewayofthemandalorian @darthadeline @ennuiandthebourgeoisie @cannedsoupsucks @forever-rogue @kat-r-in @wyofabdoms @leonieb @javisjeanjacket @spvce-cowboy @agirllovespancakes @phoenixhalliwell @mitchi-c @salome-c @amneris21 @maciiiofficial @dindja @Velia7 @kesskirata @spideysimpossiblegirl @magpie-to-the-morning @javierpcna @julesorwhatever @lazybeeches @pedropascaldice @artsymaddie

#ezra x reader #ezra (prospect) x reader #ezra x gender neutral reader #prospect 2018 #cris writes #adult tag #throwing this out into the void okay bye #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #usernobie #userdindja #userchrisann #voice actor!ezra

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mgsapphire · 4 years ago

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Ethics and morality... and how they're not the same...

Weird title, and I don't even know if I'll properly approach this one with all the topics I wish to this discuss in today's The Devil Judge essay, because a lot of things peaked my interest, I was debating on doing a separate post for each subject, but I'll do them all in here:

Starting simple

I know we're only 4 episodes in, but I want to break down the things that I often look for in a new show:

Cinematography

Soundtrack

Character building

Plot devices

Social commentary (sometimes)

Of course, these are things most people would consider basics, but I find that a lot of TV shows don't have enough balance in them. Also, cinematography and soundtrack are pretty up there for me because when a plot gets slow, or something like that, I stay for those two (biggest example: King Eternal Monarch).

The soundtrack in The Devil Judge is amazing and the cinematography can be a character of its own. They really get me hooked and are used as tools to properly tell a story. And I'll get into that further down this post.

The onlooker will never understand the actor

Experience is your best friend not only applies to job hunting, but it's true in the real world too. You can't truly weigh in on something unless you've experienced it yourself, you can give it your judgment and everything, but when bad things happen to someone, you'll never truly understand their pain. Am I bringing up because of the difference of mind in Judge Kang and Judge Kim's opinions? On how the public treated the minister's son? No. I'm talking about a very specific scene, where the cinematography told me to think that way and not the dialogue (it's that easy for my mind to be swayed). In episode 3, when the rich are about to dine right after the foundation's commercial for a better future, we see this aerial shot:

What's interesting about this? The seclusion and the enclosed feeling it conveys as a counterpart to the poverty shots we were just shown. Yet, these are the people making ads for a better future, what do they know?

They live comfortably behind concrete walls with no windows to see what goes on apart from the bubble they live in. This idea is further enforced at the party in episode 4, where they're not even a part of the donations, and watch and mock from afar as spectators. Yet, these people call the shots. They even call it commenting, as if they were watching the pain of others on TV.

The intriguing personality and the duality it encites

Now, this was a costume and wardrobe decision, but it was also very well thought of:

Judge Kim wears white and Judge Kang wears black. One is morally perceived by viewers of the show as morally good and the other is perceived as morally dubious at best. However, besides the costume and wardrobe thought put into this, we also have to think about the delivery of this scene and how it may further affect my detailing of this section. Judge Kang brings down the coats, and hangs over the coat to Judge Kim, he's the one who is making that annotation: You're pure, I'm tainted. This can have one of two interpretations:

Either Judge Kang believes Judge Kim to be pure and innocent due to his status as a rookie in the field

Or he believes Judge Kim to be morally white and himself morally black as he's looking at his brother's face and not at Judge Kim's heart.

Because most of the back story we're unveiling is through Judge Kim's perception, there's also an inherit bias we're having as well, because in Judge Kim narrative, he believes he's doing what's right and believes Judge Kang to be evil. In being served information about Judge Kang through Judge Kim's eyes, our bias is inherently skewed.

Another thing is that, when they put on the coat, they're standing in front of the other, as if the producers of this series are telling us they're two sides of the same coin.

The duality is made in more deceitful ways, which include:

A difference of classes that implies one has suffered while the other has not.

A difference of experience that implies one is more tainted while the other is pure.

A difference of age that implies one is a sly fox while the other one is is bunny about to be eaten.

A difference of temper that makes one erratic and the other logical.

Power dynamics

This one, in this one I could make a whole thesis based on just a couple of scenes in the drama. And you know I have to mention it: director Jung being the puppeteer.

It may not be as unexpected at first, nevertheless it brings forward a lot of things I've wished to touch upon for quite some time now. A woman being a puppeteer of an old man in the portrayed dystopia that The Devil Judge is painting makes much more sense than more common demonstrations of these dynamics where it's either a:

A man of power being controlled by a bigger man of power.

A man of power being controlled by a seemingly man of a lower status.

A woman being controlled by a man of power.

Although, there's nothing wrong with those power dynamics, and if they were to be used, a message could also be conveyed, this one in particular works as a megaphone.

A subversion of power in such a way can be interpreted as a true indication of the weak overcoming the powerful. Why? It is not that woman are naturally weaker than men, but that in society, patriarchy has been a big factor in taking voice away from women in order to give it to men.

In order for Director Jung to achieve her purposes, it's smarter for her to do it under the pretense that an old rich man in power is the one calling the shots.

This is better exemplified by her stance when the old man tries to excuse his behavior, and what her moral compass is. I'm not saying I agree with her unethical conduct, but that her morality is directly impacted by the perception of the public of her as a weak woman:

Just because a dog bites a human does the person get dirty?

This is telling on how she perceives the actions of the old man in gropping the waitress. She didn't do anything wrong, even if you touched her, you are the dirty one.

While she's evil, it's a refreshing and deep evil.

The public's opinion and how there's actually logic in the show's portrayal

The public opinion can make or break a person, even if it's not on a public trial like this. While "cancel culture" barely works in today's society, a person's reputation is forever tainted. The show does tell that, but it also exhibits the scary downside of it, by showing how easily it was to make people accept flaggelation as a fitting punishment.

There are many experiments that have tried to test the effect of societal pressure on an individual's decision and the effect of the authority's enforcement of power in the outcome of these decisions. Furthermore, theories based on analysis of human behavior not necessarily relying on experiments can also help break this down. What do I mean? Here's a small attempt at explaining:

Milgram Experiment on Authority: which measured the individual willingness to carry out actions that go against their conscience due to an authority's approval.

Argument from Authority; The idea that people are more likely to use an authority's opinion on something as an argument for their reason. This is often seen in science, where trusted authorities have done the research and offer it to the public. In here, authority bias also plays a role, as we often believe, at first, that an authority must be right.

Moral disengagement: basically speaking, because this is evil or bad, I'm not part of it and I most probably am not actively participating in it. One may disengage by moral justification, which means that before engaging in something that has been previously perceived as immoral, I'm changing my stance on it based on what I tell myself to be logical arguments. This particular form of moral disengagement is very effective in changing the public opinion. I'll be touching on another form further down this post.

Other factors played a part, but these ones in particular came to mind when public flagelation as a form of corporeal punishment was wildly accepted. First, an authority is the one telling them it's correct, to go ahead. Secondly, another authority (the minister) had previously shown approval to such unusual punishment. Thirdly, they are not the ones to be engaging directly in the act, and even if they were, it would be acceptable because an authority has told them so. They may even believe the punishment to be a necessary evil for the greater good.

In fact, the minister's son was actually correct when pleading his case, they were accepting it because it wouldn't affect them directly.

Regarding the cinematographic descent of the public opinion regarding the situation can better be exemplified by the old man we've seen through the episodes.

Does suffering justify misdeeds?

Today I came along the difference between excuse and reason. You may give a reason for your behavior, but it doesn't excuse it.

Not because I've suffered through shit, means I have to make you suffer too.

I may explain myself, but it's on the other side to excuse me.

Why I hate the unreliable narrator and why I love it so much

This story has been told mostly through the eyes of Judge Kim and what he hears and sees regarding Judge Kang, if anything, the narrative is very close to that of the narrative we've seen in The Great Gatsby. An enigmatic man is being narrated to us from the eye of a man who hasn't known him for a long time.

How is that an unreliable narrator? The narrator has their own set of bias and moral standards which function as lenses through which they see the world.

Another way of putting it would be the way teenage romances are often written in a first person narrative where either of the two teenagers is the narrator, so the author can sell to us something as simple as offering a pack of gum as the most romantic act on earth. We're perceiving interactions through rose tainted glasses.

In this case, we're seeing the interactions through Judge Kim's eyes who doesn't trust Judge Kang from the get go due to his own preset bias.

The narrative becomes even more unreliable as we're not exactly sure if what Judge Kang disclosed himself is a fact.

The reason why I love this narrative is because it leaves a lot of space to make simple plot twists to a narrative and make them seem grand, and can elongate a story without making it obvious.

The reason why I hate it is because sometimes, in tv shows mostly, we as viewers can see the other side of the story and grow increasingly frustrated with the main character's prejudice and misunderstandings (I'm looking at you my beloved Beyond Evil).

Also, because I have to wait for a long time before I actually have a clear picture of it.

#kdrama #kdramas #kdrama recommendations #analysis #rant #the devil judge #got7 #park jinyoung #ji sung #kdrama meta #kdrama quotes #kdrama analysis #meta #the great gatsby #kim min jung #please dont let this flop

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bigskydreaming · 5 years ago

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Alright a noob's question to a veteran fan, when do you think the blatant hatred for Dick started? I've heard from old, 50+ years old fans that he was the best, he was badass, better than Batman A lister. What changed? I know DC can't stand their legacy characters and they've always put abuse in their books, but I want to know about the fandom. When I joined I fell for the Tim Drake Best but Underrated Robin thing until I realized that was polar opposite of the truth. When did That start?

Okay, well it took me forever to get back to this ask and finish like I promised, but I kept my promise, huzzah! Long as fuck theorizing on this topic below:

So here’s the thing. I’ve been fucking around fandoms since the 90s, and I can 100% confirm that Everyone Hates Dick Grayson absolutely was not always a thing. Its a large part of WHY I’m so convinced that modern fandom is just fucking WEIRD about him, because like....I actively have something else to compare it to. I can absolutely remember what Bat fandom was like in regards to him back in the days of the Bludhaven yahoo group and squidge.org and other random URLs that mean absolutely nothing to 99% of you, lolol.

Like, there is very much, distinctly, DEFINITIVELY, a difference in how the majority of fandom views him and interacts with his character now, as opposed to like.....the first decade or so I was in fandoms.

And if I had to trace it back to a specific time period where there was like...an actual, visible sea change....the only thing I can come up with is around the Battle for the Cowl era, the start of the Morrison/Dickbats run. Not so coincidentally, this was the precise time I moved away from Batfam fandom after having pretty consistently being in it for a good ten years by then, BECAUSE there very clearly IMO was this change in how people were writing about Dick all of a sudden.

Like, there had been tensions building towards Dick’s character for awhile, probably ever since Jason’s return because like....in a sense, Dick’s too far removed from say, Tim, to be directly in competition with his character. What I mean is, there’s too little overlap in what people like about Tim and what people like about Dick for them to ever be like...a threat to each other’s fanbases in that respect, and push people to make a choice there. But with Dick and Jason, there’s enough overlap in them and what draws people to them - even just purely in terms of positioning within the Bat franchise, as an older Bat-sibling and former Robin that nevertheless is no longer Robin himself - that like....ever since Jason came back, you could start to see ‘fractures’ in how people viewed Dick. Because now there was another alternative to his character who occupied a similar......not sphere, but perhaps ‘level’ of the Batfamily franchise, and so people kinda started....picking sides, even though no actual sides had to be picked in the first place because its not actually a fucking competition.

And this isn’t to say the view of Dick in fandom and how he’s interacted with is the ‘fault’ of Jason’s return, not at all, just.....this is just me talking analytically, in terms of patterns and causality. Not trying to assign blame here, more just kinda explain the way it appeared to me anyway.

But then things all came to a head in the Battle for the Cowl era, and ignited stuff that had been lurking under the surface in SEVERAL different areas of fandom, and brought into direct conflict long-held assumptions and views and biases that had only never been in conflict before because they didn’t NEED to be in conflict before.

Basically, my Big Thesis about why fandom is the way it is about Dick, is that I feel its not so much that fans of other characters hate him, its that I think many of them RESENT him for very specific things and how those things like....make him a narrative obstacle to the kinds of stories they want to read and write about the Batfam specifically.

With the biggest examples here being Bruce fans, Jason fans and Tim fans.

See, my take is this:

1) I think a lot of Bruce fans resent Dick on some level because he’s actually the biggest obstacle standing in the way of the Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent view of things. As much as people have always liked to claim and take for granted that Dick is Bruce’s favorite or whatever, the truth is there is a far longer and far more VARIED history of Bruce and Dick being at odds than there is between Bruce and any other of his kids.

Essentially, in order to really sell Bruce as CONSISTENTLY being a good parent, regardless of what canon says or does at times.....DICK is the character you MOST have to rewrite or write around, change or ignore his stories, reframe his past interactions with Bruce in order to make this stick.

I know people are probably going “Umm what about Bruce and Jason though?” But the difference is, Bruce and Dick’s conflicts cover a lot more ground than Bruce and Jason’s. Its not that Bruce and Jason’s clashes aren’t epic and that Bruce’s behavior with Jason in stories like UTRH hasn’t been massively shitty....its that in terms of Bruce and Jason, these things are a lot more....confined, than they are with Bruce and Dick.

Basically, most of the major conflict between Bruce and Jason CAN be rewritten or avoided by simply addressing three or four definitive things: the Garzonas case and aftermath, Bruce’s actions/response in regards to the Joker killing Jason, Jason’s return and his wants and needs in regard to Bruce in UTRH, and Bruce’s view of Jason’s actions and ideology post his return.

None of these are small things by any means. But they are FINITE things. They’re concentrated into specific stories, specific areas of canon....and thus, more easily navigated around by anyone who wants to avoid engaging with these things in the form of Bruce being a shitty parent, and rewrite and reframe Bruce and Jason’s dynamic in the vein of Bruce is a Good Parent.

In contrast, with Dick and Bruce, to rewrite and reframe Bruce and Dick’s OVERALL dynamic in the vein of Bruce is a Good Parent......you’ve got a LOT more ground to cover.

There’s Bruce firing Dick as Robin, there’s Bruce not reaching out to Dick and being content to stay estranged from Dick for all the years they barely interacted, there’s the effect Bruce’s adopting Jason and making him Robin without a word to Dick in advance had on Dick, there’s Bruce still not using the conflict between them over that to make changes in how he interacted with Dick like say adopting him now, there’s Bruce’s actions and behavior towards Dick in the aftermath of Jason’s death, there’s Bruce’s inconsistent appearances in Dick’s stories in all the many times Dick very much needs help or comfort juxtaposed with Dick’s consistent appearances in Bruce’s stories any time he so much as calls him and asks him to show up due to the fact that canon writers can consistently be counted on to prioritize Bruce’s needs as more pressing than Dick’s needs, narratively speaking. There’s Bruce’s clear judgment of Dick in Last Laugh and failure to reach out and help Dick through its aftermath. There’s Bruce’s non-involvement in the extended greatest hits album that is one of the lowest periods of Dick’s life, encompassing Blockbuster, Tarantula and the destruction of Bludhaven, and Bruce’s non-helpful ‘fix’ in the wake of all that, which can be summed up as him yelling “suck it up, buddy.” And in the New 52 you’ve got Bruce’s shitty handling of the Court of Owls revelations and his treating the effect of these revelations on Dick as a total non-issue, there’s the aftermath of Forever Evil, there’s Bruce’s failure to say anything about why Dick went to Spyral even after seeing the effect it had on Dick’s relationships with the rest of his family, there’s the absolute disaster that was his handling of the Ric Grayson situation.....

See what I’m saying? Its not that Bruce doesn’t have plenty of fodder for being a shitty parent in stories with Jason, its just that the times and the ways he is are more isolated and contained, relatively speaking....thus more easily ‘treated’ by anyone who wants to FIX those parts of canon in order to realign it all in the framework of Bruce Wayne Is A Good Parent.

Its nowhere NEAR as easy to do that with Dick when you ACTUALLY engage with the full extent of how shittily Bruce has been written interacting with his eldest over the course of decades....

And so for fans of Bruce who very much WANT Bruce to be a good parent, that’s what they want to read, that’s what they want to write, that’s what they’re HERE for and stuff OUTSIDE that is stuff they (understandably) do not want to engage with....

This makes Dick actively an OBSTACLE to all of that. It makes him a Problem. Dick and his stories and his dynamics with Bruce, in order to truly align with Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, have to EXTENSIVELY be tackled and rewritten and reframed, and this is no easy feat or no small process.

And for fans of Bruce who are here for BRUCE first and foremost, not Dick, and who thus don’t want to and aren’t thrilled to be confronted with a need to PRIORITIZE him and his stories to such a large degree in order to ACTUALLY ‘fix’ canon - which for the record has nothing to do with Dick being more important of a character or anything to do with character preferences whatsoever, but rather is simply symptomatic of the ROLE Dick occupies in Bruce’s life, and is an extension of the fact that in any scenario in which Bruce Wayne Is A Good Parent, Dick, as his son, logically MUST be as much a priority at least some of the time as any other of his kids because THAT’S WHAT A GOOD PARENT DOES, HE MAKES HIS KIDS A PRIORITY.....

Like, its honestly understandable (even if thanks, I hate it) that people who really just WANT to focus on Bruce and his Good Parent-ness and don’t want to be forced into HAVING to make Dick and fixing or rewriting how Bruce has screwed up with him into a priority when writing fic that ultimately, for these fans, is still supposed to be ABOUT Bruce.....like, its not exactly rocket science, grasping how this could easily lead to people being even less keen on the guy, because he complicates so many stories they want to write without remotely being one of the characters they’re inspired to write in the first place.

So I mean, yeah. Dick very much became an object of resentment for a lot of Bruce fans, I think, for that reason specifically, and for the narrative obstacle he innately presents to anyone who just wants to write Good Parent Bruce and doesn’t want to have to write Bruce Actively Fixing His Mistakes With Dick in order to do so.

And again, this is pretty much JUST Dick in this particular role (especially as of the time I’m talking about) because much like how even though Bruce has his fuck-ups with Jason, they’re more finitely contained to specific narratives and TYPES of narratives....the same is true of Bruce’s interactions with his other kids. Yeah, he has his fuck-ups with them too, but again, they’re more isolated, more traceable back to singular sources and stories that are a lot more easily sidestepped and navigated around by anyone who just does not want to engage with Bruce Being a Bad Parent and the EFFECTS this has had on various of his kids throughout their stories as a result.

So you have this thing, about Dick, narratively speaking, not even a matter of character like or dislike. And its been there all along, slowly building story by story....

With it all coming to a head, I feel, in the Battle for the Cowl era, where Bruce is shuffled off-stage for a time, and REPLACED by Dick as Batman.....while at the same time Dick is cast in the same role of surrogate father figure to newcomer Damian, that Bruce was cast in with Dick when he and Dick were of similar ages to Dick and Damian now.

And Bruce was absolutely celebrated for how good he was with Dick back then - and with reason - BUT, I think this period with Dick and Damian, and the stories it told, brought front and center the fact and the awareness that it’d been a LONG TIME since Bruce was so uncritically celebrated for being a Good Parent, and with Dick specifically. And then additionally it made and kept front and center at this exact same time....people celebrating Dick for being a Good Parent (in essence) in much the way that they HADN’T celebrated Bruce for quite some time. And add to that the fact that Dick was doing this WHILE in the role of Batman himself, the same role Bruce had occupied in the parallel situation....so it made all this into a parallel that couldn’t easily be dismissed or discounted by saying things like “well Dick didn’t have the pressures of being Batman to deal with, being a good parent throughout all of this and STAYING that way would have been innately easier because of that.”

And thus....long-simmering resentment of the obstacle alleged favorite son Dick poses to actually writing Bruce Is A Good Parent content without significant revision or ommissions....ignited. With kinda the insult added to injury that now Dick was getting the same kind of praise and attention that these particular fans came to the franchise to see BRUCE be the focus and recipient of, not Dick.

2) At the same time, you have another large segment of fandom by this point, Jason’s fans. Or to be more accurate, you have a select but EXTREMELY vocal subset of Jason’s fans.....

Who come to Jason’s fandom with a very specific angle: they LIKE Jason as the misunderstood outcast of the Batfam, the black sheep alone and apart from the rest of the family who Just Don’t Get Him And Never Will, thus making him eternally sympathetic in this specific regard. But with that specific regard, in order to STAY eternal…..requiring that….nobody in the family gets him or cares or ever has really.

Thus once again, Dick just by the existence of him and his actual past dynamics with Jason, is a narrative obstacle to writing THIS specific narrative.

And so of course it had to be reframed and EMPHASIZED that Dick had always been a jerk to Jason, barely a brother, heck they barely even knew each other apparently - even when Jason came back and one of his first interactions with Dick post-Return was to clearly express that he’d always seen Dick as family, which very much does not mesh the idea that Jason and Dick barely knew each other or barely ever interacted before Jason died.

It also, of course, does not mesh with the idea that there’s nobody in the Batfamily who understands Jason, or is capable of seeing things his way instead of Bruce’s, or who cares enough to avenge him……because Last Laugh very much DOES exist, and puts the lie to all of that. Dick’s not only killed at least once (actually more than just once) and still remained fundamentally the same Dick Grayson he’s always been, but on top of that, it was the very person Jason desperately wanted to see dead as some kind of evidence, some sign that he had MATTERED to his family, that him being taken away from them hurt them enough that they felt driven to DO something about it, beyond the usual toss ‘em and lock ‘em.

Dick actually did that, ‘gave’ Jason what he wanted, and for the very same reasons Jason wanted it, to know that it was because of him, because of the loss of him, because he MATTERED and his absence HURT….and while of course, Dick was never the person Jason most wanted to see do that deed, want to see that evidence from….nonetheless, it very much does remain as significant evidence towards the fact that Jason mattered a great deal to Dick, enough even that having differing beliefs about killing would still be unlikely to ever stand between Dick having some kind of relationship with his returned-from-the-dead brother - because not only was it because of Jason (and Tim as well, admittedly, I’m not trying to gloss over the fact that he was part of the story and part of Dick’s motivation, this is just a matter of topical focus at the moment) not only was it actually BECAUSE of Jason that Dick crossed the line that so often he otherwise rigidly adheres to…it was never that realistic that Dick would judge and condemn Jason for killing, at least not by any narrative that took Last Laugh into consideration.

Because not only has Dick done the same thing himself, and MORE than wanted to do it on many other occasions as well thus he very clearly understands both the temptation and the arguments made for it…..BUT just as significantly IMO, is the AFTERMATH of Last Laugh. Where Dick very clearly was shown wrestling with and being affected by Bruce’s implicit judgment for what he’d done. Meaning not only was Dick never actually likely to condemn or judge Jason….he also is one of a handful of people most able to empathize with being judged or condemned by BRUCE for crossing that line. It never made sense or was realistic that there’d be this great divide between Dick and Jason after his return, that Dick was unable let alone unwilling to try and bridge, even for the sake of spending time with the brother he thought he’d never have a chance to spend time with again.

(And yeah yeah, its not like he was embracing Jason with open arms in Brothers in Blood, but I maintain that had more to do with Jason’s approach than Dick innately being predisposed to being stand-offish with Jason. Like, when you announce yourself by impersonating your brother and getting him a rep as a manic killer being hunted by the police, instead of just like…ringing the doorbell, its kinda like, well, you may have to shoulder some of the blame here. Not to mention there still was the specter of what Jason had done to Dick’s other little brother Tim, with this still unaddressed between the two as of that time).

So yeah, for the above reasons and many more, Dick once again presents a narrative obstacle to a specific KIND of narrative that happens to be the one a lot of Jason’s fans most want to tell. The one where Jason sticks it to all his uptight family and rides off into the sunset with his NEW family, one that appreciates him and holds him in proper respect and positioning, the one where Jason will always be at least a somewhat tragic figure, forever apart from the family he does still very much love, because THEY can’t reconcile who and what HE is and believes.

Cuz once you take Last Laugh into consideration, AND add in Jason’s own words at the end of Brothers in Blood and the fact that they DIDN’T hate each other back when Jason was Robin, nor was it just one-sided on Dick’s end of things…..well, with all that taken into account, it becomes a lot trickier pulling off the above narrative, doesn’t it? When the in-character behavior of Dick according to THAT characterization of him would never accept any version of events where Jason was cast out for good (and yes, yes, RHATO and Bruce exiling Jason from the city, I know that in the New 52 that’s pretty much exactly what happened and Dick didn’t do anything about it, but he was kinda busy getting shot in the head right around that same time, so, y’know. That cuts into the ability to intervene on Jason’s behalf).

But basically, this is IMO why Last Laugh barely gets acknowledged by a lot of Jason’s fans, even though on the surface, you’d THINK its exactly the kind of story that would appeal to anyone who wanted, well, a story where someone in Jason’s family showed that they actually gave a damn the damn dumb clown still wasn’t dead. Its an in canon story that showcases and even highlights very clearly Jason’s place in that person’s family and memories, and the importance and weight with which he was regarded by that family member. Isn’t that exactly what Jason - and thus by extension his fans - have always wanted?

Well….yes, except it was the wrong family member. To have the weight, the significance that a lot of fans TRULY wanted from that story, from that outcome, it needed to be BRUCE that did it, not Dick. There’s no real place in that particular narrative or dynamic for an older brother who does actually give a damn. Like yeah, its great that Dick cared and all, but when its viewed as being more of an all or nothing situation, like, it has to play out with Bruce in that role and no one else, or it doesn’t count, doesn’t mean ENOUGH…..once again, this positions Dick to be more of a narrative obstacle to a certain (popular) kind of story than a benefit.

And so Dick has to be repositioned, reframed, rewritten…..to be something and someone writers can actually work with when writing the kind of story where Bruce’s acknowledgment is the only one that ultimately matters. Him being likely to WANT to help and support Jason from an in-character standpoint, simply doesn’t help writers for whom this just becomes an unwanted plot complication that inherently bumps Dick a little higher up the Priority Ladder, because his status as a Rare Ally rather than Yet Another Antagonist pretty much inevitably paves the way for more screentime for his character, and again….he’s just not the character these writers want to write about (and yeah, again, this part is totally understandable), and they’re really just not interested in allotting him that much screentime, let alone a role that could feasibly steal focus at times from Jason, edge the narrative into being more of a co-lead than the single protagonist it was definitively intended to be.

So. Fandom subset number two is equally predisposed to resenting Dick simply for the narrative obstacle he presents to one of their preferred stories to tell - with again, this pretty much taking off right around the Dickbats era, fueled in no small part by Morrison’s shitty take on Jason, which, while I maintain it was Jason that was most out of character in all of that….DOES still very easily play into that take on him, where he’s misunderstood and eternally at odds with his family.

And which also, I suspect, is why Morrison’s run tends to be weirdly popular with a lot of Jason fans who in most other places are quick to point out earmarks of Jason’s usual characterization that are entirely at odds with Morrison’s take on him, like that he’s extremely against the idea of younger sidekicks in general at this point (especially pre-Reboot), which uh, makes him taking on a younger sidekick a very….Strange Choice.

3) And then lastly we come to Tim, and a lot of his fans’ issues with Dick Grayson - which I think are heightened by a kind of feeling of betrayal that ties in here, and emphasizes the fact that just a year or two prior to Battle for the Cowl, most of these same fans would have sworn they loved Dick’s character and he was a great big brother to Tim.

See, the problem here, I think, lies in the fact that Tim is THE definitive Robin for an entire generation of readers. He’s who they see in the role every time they close their eyes, because he’s who’s always been in the role as far as they’re concerned. Back issues are just that - back issues. They’re about the history of Robin. But in the present, the here and now, for the solid twenty years or so before Battle for the Cowl, for all intents and purposes there really was only one Robin and it was uncontested that it was Tim.

And again, on a lot of levels I totally get this. I’m somewhat similar when it comes to Kyle Rayner and Green Lantern. Kyle was ‘my’ Green Lantern, the one I grew up with, the one starring in the stories that were current and ongoing for me as I aged. I was pissed as hell when they brought Hal Jordan back and he resumed being front and center in the GL franchise…..not because before this I’d had any real strong feelings about Hal one way or the other, outside of how I felt about him in the individual stories he popped up in…..but simply because Hal front and center happens to coincide with the starring GL of the solo title I personally would consider the definitive GL run….like….pretty much getting shoved offstage entirely, most of the time. I get that. It sucks.

Except that’s not QUITE the situation here.

Like the thing is, I do believe that for a lot of fans, Tim IS Robin and Robin IS Tim. That’s how its always been for them, that’s the way they like it, that’s how it should remain until his character is ready to launch into a new persona and identity of his own character’s volition. And its not like it was ever a secret that other Robins came before Tim, and that Dick was actually the creator of the mantle, the guy that all the other later Robins, including Tim, were literally the legacy OF. And its not like Dick wasn’t around in Tim’s stories, and wasn’t a familiar presence to Tim’s fans….its just that for almost twenty years, the WAY Dick appeared in Tim’s stories only added to them. There was no angle from which he took away from Tim’s stories, or the fact that they were Tim’s.

Like yes, he was a reminder that Tim was not the only Robin and never had been, that there were others with just as much claim to the title, if not more……but in a very background way. Not in any way that presented any kind of ‘threat’ to Tim’s actual status as Robin. Dick Grayson’s days as Robin were way in the past, and there was no real likelihood that they were ever going to put him back in that role, so his ‘claim’ to the Robin mantle was never at any point one that potentially contested Tim’s own. It was simply a non-issue. Instead, Dick’s status as the original Robin juxtaposed with his current roles of doting big brother and secondary mentor figure….like, at the time, this actually ADDED to Tim’s own wearing of the mantle. Dick’s presence was less a reminder that he was the one without whom the mantle wouldn’t even exist, and more just a kinda embodiment of the Robin LORE, the fact that Tim’s superhero mantle came with history and the prestige of past accomplishments accomplished by the Robin name, and the gravitas of the dangers and downsides that potentially came with the cape as well. It gave Tim an additional angle that even most of his friends and teammates in various books didn’t have, made him stand out even more.

And it didn’t hurt that pretty much any time there was a guest appearance from Nightwing in Tim’s stories, he was firmly slotted in the supporting character role, there to help Tim but not overshadow Tim, to support him but not claim credit for Tim’s ultimate victory in any given story’s climax. And there weren’t many occasions when things went in reverse, where it was Tim guest-starring in Dick’s stories and thus him clearly slotted in the supporting character category, the B character role….simply because the older veteran hero needing to call upon his younger, comparatively inexperienced ally just was never as likely - and thus, occurring as often - a story as one where the younger, relatively new hero calls upon his more experienced predecessor for help or even just some advice or someone to listen to whatever was troubling the younger hero at the time.

Thus there’s the additional angle where for almost two decades, Dick Grayson’s presence in a Tim Drake narrative was for one reason and one reason only - to support Tim in whatever endeavor he was in the middle of, and to be what Tim needed, when Tim needed.

But then of course, once again we reach Battle for the Cowl….and all of that gets upended, not even because of Dick making Damian Robin per se, IMO…..to me, its always felt like the bigger issue has always been many of Tim’s fans resenting just….the reminder, the newly centered awareness that no matter how long Tim had been THEIR Robin, he wasn’t the only Robin and never had been….and that supportive, helpful older brother whose presence had previously only added to Tim’s stories and their weight, never threatened anything that was ‘his’ narratively speaking…..not only did he also have a claim to the Robin title, he has literally the biggest claim possible, the one none of the others can match due to the mere fact that they are quite literally HIS legacy characters.

Which, not at all incidentally, is IMO the reason a lot of Tim fans are so vocal about dismissing or minimizing the impression/association of Robin with Dick’s first family. Always quick to emphasize that it being his mother’s nickname for Dick was a later addition to the canon, because it ties Dick to the Robin mantle in a way none of the others ever will be. But of course, like I’ve always maintained…that’s besides the point. Whether or not Dick named himself Robin because it was a cherished nickname, because he was a fan of Robin Hood, or for any other reason, its still equally true that he’s the creator of the mantle, plain and simple. It doesn’t exist without him, it was his aims, his intentions, his DEEDS back when he wore the (clearly circus themed and inspired, no matter what else is said about the name’s origin BUT I DIGRESS) costume originally…..like, those are literally what Robin WAS because they were what Dick created Robin to be. It was only something for others to take up later, let alone to even WANT to take up, with it coming with a weight of history and past heroics that later Robins were proud to embrace….all of that’s only because of what Dick imbued the mantle with in the eyes of the world, not to mention his own successors….via what he DID in the costume, while wearing it, coupled with the fact that there’d never really been anything like him before, a kid kicking bad guy ass alongside the more intimidating specter of his mentor.

Dick being the first Robin isn’t just a matter of linear progression, like its not just a matter of him EXISTING ahead of the others ‘in line,’ so to speak. Rather, being the first Robin is a matter of…..its literally HIM and HIS actions that every later Robin is the LEGACY of. He’s the SOURCE of the legacy. And you can’t really go…’how dare the guy I’m literally part of the legacy of, like, think he has the right to decide what happens with the mantle he and he alone created, long before I ever came along’…I mean….y’know? Boiled down to that, that doesn’t really….work, like its pretty plainly evident why the originator of a legacy mantle would think its his place to be the definitive voice on what’s done with his own damned legacy. Regardless of why he named it what he did and what specific associations the name had for him originally.

But there’s always been a determined focus on kinda…..shifting attention away from the question of who actually DOES have the right to say who wears the Robin mantle and when, because I think there is generally an awareness that like….Dick wasn’t out of line to think that his own damn creation was his to give in the name of adding to their circle of family, the same way as it did twice before. Its not that there’s NO angle from which even Tim’s fans might admit that who created a legacy matters in the question of who gets to decide who carries that legacy next. Its more that like….just the reminder, the newly centered awareness that yes, Tim is not the only claimant to the Robin title and never was, like…I think that grates a lot of people, tbh.

It may have been something that there was always SOME awareness of, the whole time, but previously it was in a way that was supposed to be ancient history, not something that could ever end up ‘taking away’ something they strongly identified with being Tim’s and Tim’s alone. Especially when the character suddenly exerting a prior or greater claim on that mantle just so happens to be one that a lot of Tim’s longtime fans had long-since internalized as being part of TIM’S supporting cast, not another protagonist in his own right, one whose decisions could have a shaping effect on Tim’s narrative rather than the other way around, the way it felt like ‘its supposed to go.’

And bringing it back to the overlap with the first two fandom impressions I talked about, I think again, yeah, this resulted in a kind of resentment of Dick’s character and the narrative obstacle he presents to…..well, keeping Robin associated with Tim and Tim alone, practically speaking. Its not so much giving Robin to Damian in the first place that’s the problem, its the fact that he COULD. That within the actual canon narrative, this was acknowledged and supported as something that ultimately, Dick did have the right to do whether individual characters liked it or not, and no, that didn’t make him the same as Bruce when he’d taken it from Dick originally (assuming they acknowledge that version of the story at all in the first place).

Because due to the fact that its not something NEW that was introduced to the story that led to Dick being ABLE to do this, but rather just him choosing to exert an option he’d had the entire time and just previously chosen not to use……inevitably, this creates a slight shift in the framing and context of even previously consumed stories. Suddenly Dick’s presence in many of those previous stories ISN’T incidental, because now they couldn’t help but be viewed through the lens of….remembering what had been kinda hand-waved away as inconsequential the entire time Tim was Robin. The fact that ultimately, Tim was only Robin because Dick endorsed him. That if Dick could give Robin to Damian later, then Dick COULD have, by the exact same token, the exact same claim and association with the mantle he’d been the one to create….he could have stuck by his initial stance, which was that Robin died with Jason.

In all fairness, as I’ve said many times before, this NEVER had anything to do with whether or not Tim became Bruce’s PARTNER, specifically. I’ve never been of the opinion that even Dick’s status as the originator of Robin had nothing to do with who ended up Bruce’s PARTNER after him - that was always going to be between Bruce and that person, and no one else. But whether, as that partner, Tim went by the name Robin….with everything it embodied and signified and carried with it already….that, yes, Dick had always had the option of saying no, I’m not okay with this, I do not give you permission to wear the SPECIFIC mantle I created, what my brother died wearing.

I mean, granted, Bruce and Tim could have done what they wanted anyway, but much like people try and dismiss or invalidate the version of events where Bruce fired Dick as Robin and stripped him of the mantle precisely BECAUSE there’s no real way to go with that version and NOT get that Bruce looks like a douche in it one way or another, simply because that was never his to take….like, same deal here. They could have powered on without Dick’s approval of someone else wearing the Robin costume, but ignoring the wishes of a mantle’s creator, to let it rest given that someone had literally died carrying that very same legacy, HIS legacy….like, that was never going to look good and would have stained pretty much Tim’s entire career as Robin.

So yeah, I think the third corner of this Isosceles of Suck is that I do believe on some level, a lot of Tim fans resent Dick’s character simply for where and in what ways it exists in any and all Robin narratives…..as the one who ultimately CAN NOT be overlooked as inconsequential, because its literally HIS legacy that Tim and all other Robins took PRIDE in embracing. And everything with Damian simply hammered that point home and made it front and center and impossible to avoid confronting, no matter how much a long time fan wanted Robin to belong to and be associated with Tim and Tim only…..with the ironic part being that I truly do GET why this would bug….because again, if you’re here for Tim, if its his stories you want to read and write, if HE’S the one you’re a fan of, and if for whatever reason you just don’t like Dick Grayson all that much even if you don’t actually hate him…..

Yeah, its likely going to lead to resentment if you yourself feel, purely from a narrative standpoint, like….’pressured’ to write Dick being afforded more respect or importance in the other characters’ eyes than you personally feel like writing. But that its hard to avoid or becomes something you actively have to write AROUND any time your own story backs you into a corner where the origins of Robin are directly relevant to the plot, and logistically, and given there’s really no plausible angle from which Tim would have embraced or taken up (let alone taken pride in) a legacy belonging to someone he DIDN’T look up to or view as worthy of respect….like…in this kind of specific plot tangle, it could very easily feel like if you want to keep things feeling in-character, you have no CHOICE but to have Tim talk up or speak positively of a character who, if it were up to you, would never command that kind of respect from Tim, a character you happen to think is just plain better than the one you feel like your story is MAKING you say is so great. Bam. Once again, you got yourself a recipe for Instant Resentment Ramen.

(Again, not at all incidentally, I think the above also has a lot to do with the pretty prevalent trend in Tim-centric stories of having him pretty much ONLY fixate or focus on Jason’s time as Robin, citing him as ‘Tim’s Robin,’ not just as like, a preference but almost to the exclusion of Tim having ever had any kind of interest in, let alone appreciation/respect for, Dick’s version of Robin before Jason stepped into the role. A lot of people would rather the respect/admiration that would normally be afforded by any legacy hero to the person whose legacy they’ve chosen to carry, like, go solely to Jason instead of Dick, just because they like him better and would rather Tim was just his successor, no one else’s.)

And with all three of these angles/elements coming to a head at the exact same place and time in the comic books and fandom……it IMO created kinda the perfect storm right around the Dickbats era, where suddenly all these totally disparate sections of fandom all felt weirdly in agreement on one thing and one thing only….Dick Grayson was really just kinda bugging them, and what’s so great about that dude anyway?

And from there I think they all kinda just fed into each other and grew exponentially, with the individual ‘workarounds’ used by each other characters’ fans to get around the narrative obstacle that Dick represented, like…..I think these all became so prevalent and widespread throughout fandom because even these totally separate corners of fandom that had very little else they agreed on, were more than happy to take each other’s ‘rewrite’ of Dick and his place/depiction in the overall narratives and canon and just run with it….because not at all coincidentally, each other ‘group’s’ revisionist take on Dick Grayson made their own even easier to sell within their own stories. And thus you also ended up with correlating trends like Jason and Tim being besties and bonding over their resentment of Dick, because why not, both their fanon narratives now predominantly shared the same deliberately unappealing depictions of their eldest brother.

With the New 52 and post-reboot storylines then doing absolutely NOTHING to negate or derail all of the above, but rather just reinforcing all of it. Because as Bruce kept being written behaving worse and worse with his children, including Dick, it only added to and expanded upon the problems Bruce’s fans already have with Dick’s character, even if just in terms of how big a plot/characterization obstacle he presents for the stories they want to write.

Just as the way Lobdell wrote Jason equally fed into and built upon the issues a lot of Jason’s fans have with Dick’s character and the tangle he creates for a number of stories. And then with the frequent conflicts over how two of the characters Dick’s historically been closest with had been practically cut and pasted from Dick’s stories and history into Jason’s stories and history instead, like, that just threw more fuel on the fire, particularly when it happened to ignite defensiveness among fans of the Roy/Jason/Kory trio who additionally resented having to defend their usage/embrace of a trio that canon threw together, not them, that they just happened to like. And that in turn hardly making them any less predisposed to resenting how complicated Dick’s character makes things for certain key narratives.

And then lastly, DC’s just complete and total fuckery with Tim’s character in the New 52 as a whole, but specifically in his issues with trying out various personas post-Robin but never finding/creating anything with a truly firm sense of its own identity, the way Dick has Nightwing and Jason has Red Hood, and thus give fans of both characters no REASON to mourn the loss of Robin or wish for them to go back to it….whereas without ever settling into something similar, that was both strongly and uniquely Tim Drake in premise and execution, there was no reason for his fans NOT to begrudge the loss of the Robin mantle and wish for him to go back to it/to have never left it, at least not until he’d found that other persona to actually ‘graduate’ into.

Phew. *wipes brow*

Anyway, that’s my big theory on why fandom as a whole is the way it is about Dick’s canon vs fanon. Am I right? Probably not completely, and even if I am its not like this is universal or that there aren’t other reasons for why fans engage with Dick’s character in the ways they do, including but not limited to “I just don’t like the guy, so what.” And its not like there’s any way to know for sure, or to get a sense of how much of fandom this theory IS on the right track with, at least in some ways. But overall, I do think there’s at least some of the above present in various ‘parts’ of fandom or with various specific fanon trends. *Shrugs* YMMV though.

#me @ me: wow shut up already #me @ @ me: Im not wrong tho #me @ @ @ me: yeah but still. jeez. take a breath much?`#okay Im gonna stop now

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