#a thousand times which isn't half enough

[raayllum]

AU where Rayla is just a split second faster aboard the Sea Legs

She's not quick enough to dodge the icy wave that overtakes her limbs, exactly. She feels it in her fingertips, first, like the frostbite that had nearly overtaken her near the Shivering Glades her first year on her own, before she'd had Stella to help her conserve body heat. The cold creeps down to her neck, her torso, each vein burning in agony, fear and confusion running wild in her mind. It hurts more than anything else ever has, like her whole body rather than just her hand was about to fall apart on the other end of a binding, intensified in her heart most of all—

But Rayla doesn't have to be at her best to aim true.

The first halberd she'd stolen sinks into Finnegrin's shoulder, cleaving his arm from his body in one fell swoop. The second lands somewhere above his thigh and he sinks to his knee, howling. Blood spurts from his severed arm and Callum leaps back from it, wide eyed.

"You little—" Finnegrin hisses, spasming from pain. She's never seen so much hate in his eyes before.

His crew—disloyal, afraid—shuffle uneasily but none rush to help him. Even Elmer seems too stunned, frozen like a rock rather than the hunk of wood that he is.

Finnegrin's spell inches down to her waist, and then... Miraculously, it recedes, his concentration broken. His body too weak to maintain it.

Rayla coughs, sputtering, and drops to her knees. Everything aches, and she'll hit the deck hard, but—Callum rushes forward, sliding on his knees and catching her instead. Cushioning her fall as he meets her eyes, his own concerned and angry and frightened and so, so beautiful.

"Are you okay?" he breathes and she nods.

He helps her to her feet, a shoddy mirror image of her helping him up on the Ruthless just two days prior, and she's grateful to see that Soren has turned Ezran away, as Finnegrin bleeds out on the deck.

She nudges Callum away and limps over, glaring at the man who'd dared to attack them, who'd dared to torture her love and try to coerce him into dark magic, even as her stomach squelched. This was a horrible, slow way to die and—

She could be merciful without hesitation, as she wrenched the second halberd from his kneecap and dropped it over his throat instead, silencing him. The other halberd lay in the ever growing pool of blood as she stepped back and exhaled, her breath like a ghost in the stormy mist.

His spirit would not be missed.

And there were worse things to have her first kill over, hollow as she felt.

[hottakehoulihan]

I love Worm with my heart, but I wouldn't say it's the best book published/released even in the last twenty years. ...but against George R. R. Martin? (Who is just fine)

Worm wins. And it's not a close contest.

Every single thing I or other WB readers could nitpick on Wileboo's writing for doing gets done worse by GRRM. And GurrM has other sins. He's not terrible, but even in the realms of fantasy fiction I could name fifty still-living writers who are better and I could almost do it without stopping to look up names or draw breath.

And Wilbdow is easily one of them.

If Gurrm wins this, it's only availability bias.

[getvalentined]

An open letter to @staff

I already submitted this to Support under "Feedback," but I'm sharing it here too as I don't expect it to get a response, and I feel like putting in out in public may be more effective than sending it off into the void.

The recent post on the Staff blog about changing tumblr to an algorithmic feed features a large amount of misinformation that I feel staff needs to address, openly and honestly, with information on where this data was sourced at the very least.

Claim 1: Algorithms help small creators.

This is false, as algorithms are designed to push content that gets engagement in order to get it more engagement, thereby assuring that the popular remain popular and the small remain small except in instances of extreme luck.

This can already be seen on the tumblr radar, which is a combination of staff picks (usually the same half-dozen fandoms or niche special interests like Lego photography) which already have a ton of engagement, or posts that are getting enough engagement to hit the radar organically. Tumblr has an algorithm that runs like every other socmed algorithm on the planet, and it will decimate the reach of small creators just like every other platform before it.

Claim 2: Only a small portion of users utilize the chronological feed.

You can find a poll by user @darkwood-sleddog here that at the time of writing this, sits at over 40 THOUSAND responses showing that over 96 percent of them use the chronological feed*. Claiming otherwise isn't just a misstatement, it's a lie. You are lying to your core userbase and expecting them to accept it as fact. It's not just unethical, it's insulting to people who have been supporting your platform for over a decade.

Claim 3: Tumblr is not easy to use.

This is also 100% false and you ABSOLUTELY know it. Tumblr is EXTREMELY easy to use, the issue is that the documentation, the explanations of features, and often even the stability of the service is subpar. All of this would be very easy for staff to fix, if they would invest in the creation of walkthroughs and clear explanations of how various site features work, as well as finally fixing the search function. Your inability to explain how your service works should not result in completely ignoring the needs and wants of your core long-term userbase. The fact that you're more willing to invest in the very systems that have made every other form of social media so horrifically toxic than in trying to make it easier for people to use the service AS IT WORKS NOW and fixing the parts that don't work as well speaks volumes toward what tumblr staff actually cares about.

You will not get a paycheck if your platform becomes defunct, and the thing that makes it special right now is that it is the ONLY large-scale socmed platform on THE ENTIRE INTERNET with a true chronological feed and no aggressive algorithmic content serving. The recent post from staff indicates that you are going to kill that, and are insisting that it's what we want. It is not. I'd hazard to guess that most of the dev team knows it isn't what we want, but I assume the money people don't care. The user base isn't relevant, just how much money they can bring in.

The CEO stated he wanted this to remain as sort of the last bastion of the Old Internet, and yet here we are, watching you declare you intend to burn it to the ground.

You can do so much better than this.

Response to the Update

Under the cut for readability, because everything said above still applies.

I already said this in a reblog on the post itself, but I'm adding it to this one for easy access: people read it that way because that's what you said.

Staff considers the main feed as it exists to be "outdated," to the point that you literally used that word to describe it, and the main goals expressed in this announcement is to figure out what makes "high-quality content" and serve that to users moving forward.

People read it that way because that is what you said.

*The final results of the poll, after 24 hours:

136,635 votes breaks down thusly:

An algorithm based feed where I get "the best of tumblr." @ 1.3% (roughly 1,776 votes)

Chronological feed that only features blogs I follow. @ 95.2% (roughly 130,077 votes)

This doesn't affect me personally. @ 3.5% (roughly 4,782 votes)

[ultrace]

A Reminder About the Moral Imperative of Pirating Games

Today -- or rather, two days from now in an extraordinary feat of time travel -- the United States Copyright Office ruled (among other things) to uphold the ban against the digital lending of antiquated and abandoned video games by digital library structures; e.g., archive.org or other sites in association with the Video Game History Foundation. This was, no surprise, at the urging of lobbyists from the ESA and other groups who are not in favor of the digital sharing of their works with anyone who has not paid appropriate purchase or licensing fees. The fact that the vast majority of video games ever produced are no longer available for initial purchase from an authorized publisher is not a mitigating consideration.

The sad reality is that regardless of what individual programmers, composers, graphic artists, voice actors or other contributors to a game may feel, most publishers of those games do not view the games as artistic achievements to be shared for posterity so much as competition against their latest offerings. Part of that perception might lie with gamers themselves, who depreciate games rapidly based upon their age, a devaluation that is greatly accelerated over other entertainment media such as movies, television, music and books. It often isn't economically feasible for publishers with the rights to games (for those games whose chain of custody can even be tracked anymore) to port the game to a modern system, as the target audience would be small and what those players will pay is a pittance. Despite its considerable technical achievements and overall coolness, personal favorite Scarabaeus simply isn't going to sell to enough persons to make up the cost of business efforts.

But the alternative shouldn't be to let unused properties rot, either. I have advocated emulation of older games before; indeed, I spent four and a half years doing exactly that to make about 1700 posts about classic arcade, computer and console video games. Generally, I advocate this because as gamers we deserve the breadth of experiences available to us and the only way to achieve that can be the legally dubious route. Now, however, it is clear that without the intervention of gamers as a population, the appreciation of old games will be lost -- as some publishers would like them to be, and that would be a shame.

Though I can't directly link to any site that provides ROMs or disk or tape images of older systems, such things can be very easy to find on Google. The difficulty of emulation varies with the system; many older cartridge-based consoles such as the Atari 2600, NES, SNES and Sega Genesis, are amazingly easy. MAME for arcade games may take a little adjustment for its interface depending on which version you go with. All of these are based on long-since obsolete chip-based ROM storage which was incredibly small. Games of the Fifth Generation of video game consoles (PS1, Sega Saturn, et al) have CDs or larger storage mediums which take a little longer to download and more storage space on your drive. The Commodore 64, Amiga, Apple II and other computer systems have tens of thousands of games -- some of astounding quality -- but most require you to operate the system within the emulator, so that may be a bridge too far. Whatever road you decide to take, good luck and enjoy.

[ddarker-dreams]

mini love report — gojo satoru

relationship health diagnosis — 70%*

symptom one — permanent honeymoon phase

he's obsessed with you an (ab)normal amount and makes it everyone else's problem. satoru loves seeing how many compliments he can get in before you're swatting him away from embarrassment. he'll capture your wrist, smother your pulse in kisses, then continue his praise. it's not always suave either. he alternates between having decent game and coming off as cringe. you have no idea how he says half the things he does.

satoru gushes about you to everyone. poor ijichi, mortified higher-ups, the elderly lady sitting next to him on the train; no one is safe. his chest swells with pride every time he remembers that he managed to pull you. it doesn't matter if you're teenagers sharing your awkward first kiss or if you've been married for decades, he'll be singing your praises until the end of time.

symptom two — weirdly possessive

satoru isn't possessive in the traditional sense. when others encroach on you, what troubles him runs deeper than simple jealousy. his smile becomes strained and he physically inserts himself between you and the offending party. you're then whisked away, regardless of how rude the abrupt departure comes off. this isn't limited to instances where you're being flirted with outright.

it's actually amplified when the other person holds some unique position in your life that's exclusive to them. satoru prides himself on the fact no one knows you better than he does. so it's disconcerting when another person has access to information and memories entirely detached from him. he's overwhelmed with the urge to prove you belong to each other — no one can come close to the bond you share. this acrimony lingers even after the interaction ends.

gojo satoru is a greedy man. he might not be the type to insist you cover up if your outfit is revealing, but he does experience this antipathy toward people who fulfill a niche he can't.

symptom three — obnoxious

you deserve a reward for putting up with him honestly. he wasn't wrong when he described himself as having a terrible personality. while it's rarely malicious, he isn't the most considerate person when it comes to others. he'll speak what's on his mind without a second thought. zero filter. if you're around, he's a stunning 10% nicer so you'll chew him out less. the number could be higher but he finds that disciplinary side of you hot. this is a direct admission from him.

he likes your attention and will pursue it relentlessly. as he grows up, he slightly improves this habit. or, to be more specific, he hides it better. he feels he's way more interesting than whatever book or video game you're playing. shooing him off so you can get stuff done is a commonplace occurrence. on the upside, when trudging through chores, he helps with the passion of a thousand suns if it means having you all to himself sooner.

primary area of concern

satoru's seemingly infinite (heh) supply of pep often doubles as a shield to deflect uncomfortable emotions. he isn't one to linger on negative events, the pace in which he seemingly moves on is concerning. the innerworkings of his mind are shrouded in mystery for such an open individual. getting him to open up about his fears or past hurts is almost impossible. he won't dodge your inquiries outright, that'd prove too suspicious. he'll throw a few crumbs your way and hope that's enough to satiate your worry.

the word vulnerability isn't in his vocabulary. this isn't owed to a lack of trust on his part — if anything, the care he holds for you makes it tempting at times. however, taking that first step toward opening up is daunting. you'll have to be patient with him. if it doesn't pertain to your relationship, it's unlikely he'll have an extensive heart-to-heart about the specters haunting his mind. rather, those aforementioned crumbs become more substantial. a late-night conversation will unexpectedly veer toward a sensitive subject.

it'll be fleeting. you don't have to shower him with platitudes, simply grab his hand and squeeze. it's an unspoken message that he isn't as alone as he sometimes feels.

prognosis

gojo satoru can be too blunt, he struggles with emotional intimacy, and he's shameless in getting what he wants from you. he's a mess but he's your mess. you don't revere him like a god among men, you make him feel human. you're his best friend, his soulmate (he keeps the latter description to himself, it's one of the few sentiments that embarrasses him). he'd do absolutely anything for your sake. when you enter the room, it's like everyone else ceases to exist. he brightens up and chases after any laugh, smile, or flustered expression he can get.

he believes meeting you altered the balance of the world more than his own birth.

*the universe has tried (and failed) to wrench you apart (0-20) your friends are praying that you'll break up (21-40) 'well it could/has be worse' bargaining mindset (41-60) a lil messiness as a treat (61-80) pure and wholesome (81-10)

[arabian-batboy]

Its disturbing how Zionists are trying to so damn hard to convince the world that Palestinians are currently on a huge raping campaign on innocent women and girls everywhere, even though there are literally ZERO evidences so far of ONE case of a Palestinian raping or stripping any civilians (and I mean real evidence, not bigots saying its true on twitter), they simply willed it into existence by merely saying it over and over again and thinking that's enough to make it into a real concerning fact

But do you know what has been proven as a legitimate fact for decades on the other hand? Thousands of Palestinians men, women and children being systematically violated and raped on a regular basis by Israeli settlers with no consequences or sympathy from the international community.

Like we literally have videos of Israeli soldiers on camera laughing about how many Palestinian women they have raped and multiple photos and videos of Palestinians being stripped naked and beaten by soldiers. Right now there's even a video of Israeli soldiers pissing on a dead naked Palestinian man on twitter which isn't being shared around or talked about half as much as much that one video of one Israeli woman allegedly being "stripped" to a bra and shorts, even though it has already been debunked by now that she was already wearing just a bra and shorts when she was captured and that neither she nor any other Israeli hostages have suffered any kind of sexual abuse by Palestinians (as you can see by how good they're being treated in this video)

It's really remind me how White supremacists in Europe have started this propaganda that Muslim refugees shouldn't be allowed Asylum because they're here to rape European women and that rape rates in Europe will sky-rocket by their mere existence, even though again, there are zero evidence of refugees committing sexual crimes (or any crimes) on a higher rates than local citizens. In fact, in some European countries and the US, it has proven that Muslim-majority neighborhood actually have the lower crimes rate compared to their counterparts.

One thing is clear here, it seems that it doesn't matter where they live, all White supremacists (especially Zionists) have the same exact trick when shit hits the fan and its: claim that "savage brown men are coming to rape your delicate white women! So you need to kill them before that happens!" each time the people they're oppressing are standing up for their human rights.

-

Palestinians made a document that contains templates for letters to US, UK, & Canadian politicians, media outlets, and companies in relation to current events in Palestine as well as petitions & other resources. If you live in any of these countries then please select a template, edit it to your preference and send according to the instructions on the relevant page.

Here is a link to it (please share it): https://docs.google.com/document/d/1-RUOHHiEtr7uoclQgWN-tCWOihnHIp5hym89aNePi_E/mobilebasic

Aside from that, please protest, support the BDS boycott and spread awareness as much as possible.

[sanguineterrain]

Hi again 😊 You suggested i could send another prompt, sooo… maybe you & Jason have been together awhile, and you’re kidnapped by (choose your villain) and Jason is worried and frantic but trying to not show it of course, and negotiating for your safety? Ends up rescuing you of course, in whichever way you prefer, and then they find comfort in each-other 💗

I haven’t had time or energy to work on my WIP lately so this is very lovely and gratifying 😂👌🏻💗

aghh that's the worst! wishing you luck on your wip!! i'm glad you like these <3 requests are open for jason, dick, and MAWS!clark kent btw!

this one is very batfam focused hehehe. ft dramatic ass jason and his surprise kidnapped fiancé lol.

jason todd x gn!reader. tw: violence, kidnapped reader, reader is pushed off a building for a moment but they're okay dw <3, batfam feels, jason being a protective bf, bruce being a GOOD DAD! c:

****

"Actually, if we're being honest, if anyone has the most trauma in this family, it's—"

Batman grunts. "Really, Spoiler, not now."

The comm line crackles as Stephanie sniffs. "Fine. Stay in denial."

"Bats."

Every bat and bird in Gotham goes still.

"Hood?" Barbara asks carefully, already tracking his comm link.

"Oracle," he says, clipped. "I'm gonna get right to it: I need a favor. Can you help? Yes or no."

"Little Wing, where have you been?" Dick asks. "We've all—"

"Shut up, Nightwing," Jason growls. "Either you help me or not. Which is it?"

"We'll help you, Hood," Bruce says, voice washing over Jason like a balm.

Jason takes a deep breath. It's okay. He'll find you. Batman always beats the bad guys.

He fiddles with his jacket zipper. Moments tick by. Dick remains crouched on a rooftop. Damian is similarly poised.

"My..." Jason swallows. "My... fiancé's been taken."

The comm explodes with noise. Jason winces and digs the bud out of his ear for several seconds.

"Fiancé?!"

"You're getting married—"

"When was this—"

"Who are—"

"Enough," Jason growls, finally shoving the bud back into his ear. "I don't have fucking time for this. Yes, I am engaged, and they've been taken. No more questions."

"Tt. You are engaged? Impossible. Batman, clearly someone has hacked the line pretending to be Hood," Damian says, folding his arms.

Jason rolls his eyes. "Believe it or not, demon bird, I found someone crazy enough to marry me."

"Little Wing, I—I'm really proud of—"

"Shut up!" Jason pinches the bridge of his nose. This was a bad idea. You're in trouble, and Jason intends to tear Gotham apart to find you, but involving his family? Has he really stooped so low...

Deep breath. His focus is you. You're the only person that matters.

"Look, I'm telling you because Oracle's tracking me anyway, and B would snoop until he figured out who I'm really looking for, so it's easier to just tell you. But make no mistake: you aren't my family, and you won't see us again after tonight."

Bruce's throat tightens. His cape flutters in the wind.

"Very well," he says after a couple beats. "Last known location?"

"I'm sending you the address now. I've retraced my steps a hundred times though, and I can't—" Jason grits his teeth. He can't tear up or break things, not again. "Fuck. I can't fucking find them, B. I... I don't know if-if maybe I'm too late—"

"You're not," Dick says automatically. "We'll find them, Little Wing. We'll bring them home."

****

Your head is on fire.

It feels like there's a thousand needles pelting your skull. Whatever you were drugged with, it's hard stuff, and it hasn't worn away yet.

You look up; you're gagged and tied to some kind of support beam. As your vision clears, you see that you're in one of the new high rise-in-progress. Only the skeleton of the building has been completed because if Bruce Wayne isn't involved, construction takes forever to complete.

Faintly, you recall Jason mentioning something about a construction company leaving half finished projects across the country and using them as havens for criminal activities.

Yeah. This is not good.

"Where the fuck is he?" The voice echoes across the concrete floor foundation.

"Mike, we sent—"

"I don't give a fuck what you did; obviously, you screwed up! He's not coming!"

You close your eyes, trying not to throw up on your gag. Your head spins when you open your eyes again.

Who's not coming? Your rescuer? Or somebody worse than your kidnappers?

You try to take a deep breath, but your chest tightens instead.

"Fine," Mike barks in the adjacent room. "If that hooded psychopath doesn't show up, we'll just dump this one. That'll send a message. Prepare the explosives."

A door swings open, and you flinch. You cower, shrinking from the figure.

"You better hope he shows," the guy growls, and cocks his gun. "Your boyfriend is the only reason you're still alive. It'll be such fun to watch him fall to his death, don't you think?"

You try not to show your swelling panic. How does he know about you and Jason? And you have to warn him. Explosives. Jason's walking straight into a trap, without backup, because you know he'll be alone. He always works alone.

Mike sneers and waves the gun around.

"Oh, yeah. I know your secrets. In bed with Gotham's biggest crime lord. You must be his favorite. I can see why."

"Mike!" someone shouts. "We got company!"

Mike's eyes blaze cruelly. "Showtime. You're coming with me."

You thrash as hard as you can because if there's one thing Jason taught you, it's to always fight back.

Mike backhands you hard enough to send you sprawling. Your hands are bound, so you can't catch yourself, and you hit your head on the concrete. Blood pools in your gums.

"Try that shit again, bitch," he snarls, and hefts you up.

He drags you up a flight of stairs. Your head throbs, and now your jaw aches. You're too dizzy to try to fight back again.

You end up on the roof, which is a miasma of beams and wooden lattices. Wind cuts through your face, and you close your eyes so they don't water.

"Hood!" Mike crows. "Wonderful of you to join us!"

"Wish I could say the same," Jason says, and your heart leaps at the sound of his voice.

You start to shout through your gag because you have to warn him. It's a trap, he'll kill you both—

Mike wraps his arm around your throat and squeezes. Air stops, and you choke on your cries.

"I'll kill you," Jason snarls, and you know he wants to say more, but he's trying to protect you. "Let them go and maybe I won't break every bone in your body."

"Oh, don't worry. You two will be reunited soon. What is it they say? Love blinds you?"

"Michael Cassidy," a new voice says, deep and deadly. "Let go of the hostage. We can talk this out."

You crack open your eyes. Is that... Batman? And Robin? And... Nightwing? What—

The arm around your throat tightens and you gasp for air as you start to choke for real. Oh God. Batman's going to die because of you.

"You involved Batman?" Mike snarls, now truly irate. You feel yourself being dragged backward, toward the edge. Your stomach rolls in warning.

"Take it easy," Batman says, palms up. "We can work this out."

"You can't play fair?" Mike shouts. "Then neither will I!"

The wood beneath your feet is gone. You're falling.

"No!"

But no sooner than you fall are you caught. Warm arms encircle your waist, and you're jerked to a stop before you can fall more than a few feet.

"I got you, baby, I got you."

Jason is connected to a grapple. At the roof edge is Batman, Nightwing, and Spoiler, all holding the grapple.

You shake your head, screaming against your gag. Bomb. Bomb!

"'S alright, 's alright, sweetheart, I won't drop you."

You scream urgently through your gag, butting your head against his helmet. Jason pulls your gag half free and you choke out the warning.

"B-bomb!"

His grip tightens. "Shit. B, get out of here! Place is rigged to blow!"

The first explosion goes off. Jason meets your gaze. He's terrified, you can tell, but he tries to mask it.

"Let go," he says.

"Wh—"

"He'll catch you," Jason promises. "I trust him."

And then he lets go.

Several more explosions go off. The building begins to crumble. Dust and heat sweep across your face and lodge in your already sore throat. You scream, in the air for a few more seconds.

Then you crash into gray body armor. A cowl, a cape.

"It's alright," Batman gruffly says. "Hold on tight."

Batman swings you both to safety on an adjacent rooftop. You watch him dive back into the flames. It isn't long before Jason swings out of the smoke, then the others. He pulls off his helmet and tosses it to the side, arms open.

You run and bury your face in Jason's neck, clinging to him. He hugs your tightly and rubs your back, saying over and over, I got you.

You sigh and slacken out of exhaustion.

"I've got you, baby," he says, though his voice is wet this time. "You're safe."

Jason checks over your wounds. You see the rage cross his face several times at every bruise and cut on you. He doesn't let go of you even after he's done. He's shaking too, perhaps more than you, as he cuts your binds and completely removes your gag.

The Bats land gracefully behind you. Jason stiffens as they do.

You kiss his jaw. His gaze returns to you.

"You saved me," you say.

"I always will," he says. "Always."

"Are either of you injured?"

Batman suddenly swishes to your side. You blink, startled.

"Nothing serious," you say. Jason grunts unhappily at that. You manage a smile. "Thank you. All of you. Thank you so much."

Jason nods stiffly. "Thanks, Bats."

Nightwing smiles, face soft with affection. "'Course, Hood. And, uh, Hood's fiancé. We're there any time you need us."

"That's right, chum," Batman says. The obvious care in his voice makes you ache.

Jason had called his family. His family with whom he has a plethora of problems. He'd called them for you.

"Jay," you say, voice thick with emotion. He seems to understand instantly.

"I'll always bring you home," he vows, cupping your face. "Whatever it takes."

He pulls you to him like he can't bear to be away from you any longer.

You squeeze his wrists. "I know. It's okay, Jay. I'm okay."

Out of the corner of your eye, you see that the Bats still have not dispersed. Spoiler looks like she's about to melt into a puddle. Nightwing is the same. Even Batman looks a little sentimental.

Robin is the only one scowling, tapping his foot impatiently.

"Hood, are you not going to introduce your fiance-we-just-learned-existed-tonight?" Robin asks, arms folded.

Jason huffs. "Not with those manners, demon brat."

You roll your eyes and extend your hand to Batman. You say your name, smiling.

"It's an honor to meet you, sir," you say.

Batman laughs, and it sounds a little fond. It's also kind of weird to hear Batman laugh. "No sir necessary. It's equally an honor to meet the person my son is marrying."

Jason makes a choked little noise. You beam.

"Well," Batman murmurs. "We'll let you two get home. We'll track down the rest of Michael's thugs—"

"Come to the wedding," Jason blurts.

Batman stills. "Me?" he asks carefully.

"Everybody," Jason says, tugging you into his side. "Uncle Clark, Aunt Diana, Selina, your ten thousand kids, everyone."

He turns to you. "I-I mean, as long as that's okay with you, baby."

"Oh, Jay. It's your family. Of course I want them to come." You lean in to whisper in his ear. "I'm proud of you."

"Little Wing, c'mere!"

Nightwing tackles Jason in a hug, then drags Robin, who protests loudly, in by his cape. Spoiler snaps a picture from the sideline.

"Now that's adorable," she says.

Batman looks at you. He removes his cowl, and you gasp quietly. He smiles, and it makes him look decades younger. You guess he hasn't smiled much since he lost Jason.

"Thank you," he says.

You tilt your head. "For what?"

"For bringing him back to us."

You duck your head. "Oh, Mr. Wayne, that wasn't me—"

"Bruce," he corrects gently. "And it was. You played a bigger part than you know. You saved him. Thank you."

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Musician Age Gap AU Pt 8

"I cannot believe you told my wife your date was with *Lena Luthor*," Alex whispers mid-yell, "before you told me!"

"Would it have changed your recommendation?"

At that, Kara hears Alex pause to consider.

"No," comes the final response. Then, "Did it work?"

Kara flushes-- she'd certainly gotten the reaction she'd been looking for. She just isn't sure she wants her sister to know that they hadn't fully resolved that desire.

"Well enough," Kara returns, settling on an incomplete truth. She'd explain the rest later... eventually.

A muttered curse issues over the line. "Jesus. How did this even happen? Wait-- what happens now? Esme said her next show is in, like... 16 hours, in Denver."

Kara smiles into the phone. "We stay in touch."

She's already received a picture via text, showing Lena with a tongue-out wink and a playful peace sign. Another photo had revealed a sticky bun, with a note that Lena had gotten Jess to swing by Noonan's on the way to the airport.

Though the sight of the sticky bun had made her hungry, the selfie made her pause to absorb the image. From the relaxed tousle of Lena's wavy hair, to the ray-bans hooked on the collar of her shirt, and the luxury of the private plane lurking around the edges.... she wonders if Lena realizes just how far she's letting Kara in, allowing her to see Lena in so personal a setting.

Kara's response had been simple. "Fly safe."

It had earned her a floating heart emoji and a promise to touch base upon landing.

"That's it?" Alex asks, pulling Kara back to the present.

Kara huffs a laugh. "What did you expect? She wasn't going to cancel half a national tour for personal time with someone she only met two days ago."

"Well why not? You're worth it."

"You're only saying that because you're my sister," Kara counters. "Besides, I don't want that for her."

Seeing Lena on stage had proven it's something the woman enjoyed. She thrived on the experience of it, and so did the thousands of fans who came to see her.

Which is why, a few hours after Lena's first Denver show would have concluded, Kara is surprised to receive a call from Lena. They'd facetimed when she'd landed, so the lack of video is her first clue that something isn't right.

"Hey," Kara greets, pressing the phone to her ear as she wipes sleep from her eyes. She'd meant to stay awake to check in herself, but not even a book had been able to keep her from dozing off.

"Hey."

Lena's voice is somber. It's such a difference that a wave of concern wakes Kara the rest of the way.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

There's a short pause before Lena responds. "Nothing."

"How was the show?"

"Fine. I'm sorry, I shouldn't be calling so late. I just... I wanted to hear your voice." Lena pauses again. "Is that weird?"

"No." Kara listens closely to the quiet that follows, as though it might give her some insight into what was happening on the other end of the line. "Lena..."

"Could you... talk to me?"

"About what?"

"Anything. Just... so I can listen."

Kara's brow furrows. She fights the impulse to dig deeper, to push to find the why. She doesn't need to know. Lena has asked for what she needs-- and it's something Kara is able and willing to give.

"Did I ever tell you that I didn't always live in National City?"

Lena hums a negative, prompting Kara to continue.

"I'm actually from a town up the coast. Midvale. I miss it sometimes. The stars mostly. In high school, I had friend named Kenny, and we would take his telescope to the old barn, and we would chart the skies together..."

Kara goes on, relating many and more of the troubles she and Kenny had gotten up to in those days. She was careful to steer clear of his murder, and the bullying they'd both experienced. Lena needed distraction, not more heartache.

As she speaks, Lena hums occasionally, sometimes even giving a chuckle. When the sounds of her following along peters out, Kara pauses to listen if Lena notices the stop. When no reaction comes, Kara smiles to herself.

"Lena?" she asks softly. "Still there?"

No answer comes, but when Kara increases the volume on her phone, she can hear the steady inhale and exhale of sleep. Kara listens for a few heartbeats more.

"Sweet dreams, Lena."

[1-800-local-slut]

Kiss Me Through the Phone

Life on the road isn't easy for someone who loves physical affection as much as Sam Winchester. You have a way around that.

Kinktober Day 2! I hope you guys like this one because I loved wriing it <333

Notes: Phone sex, sex toys, edging, taking photos, reader and Sam are both freaky but thats what you came here for

Kinktober Masterlist

༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻

Vibrator was a funny word if you said it enough. If you said it five times fast, it started to sound weird too. Now when your boyfriend said it though, it was something entirely different. And when you said it to him, it was apparently titillating for him. It was 8pm at night and Sam was gone. For three weeks, with Halloween approaching, the country was inflamed with reports and calls of the supernatural occurring all over the place. Taking your loving boyfriend away from your side for three weeks. And it was only the start of October. Naturally things got a little tense. With only being able to talk to each other through the phone for a few weeks now was clearly bending the two of you out of shape. 

Sam loved touching you. Anything he could do, fucking or not, if he could touch you he was in. And being away from you for so long was borderline torture. He missed cuddles, he missed kisses, he missed hugs, he missed skin to skin contact, he missed naked naps, he missed holding hands. And he missed you. So, when he was away for three weeks, without you it was basically a death sentence for him. Until you called him a few hours ago and now you two were locked in a breathless conversation.

Sam was breathless over the phone, grunting as described how he was thrusting up into his hand while thinking of you. He was describing to you how much he missed your pussy, what he was going to do to you the minute he came back. Grunting out instructions on what he wanted you to do to yourself over the phone while he denied you orgasm after orgasm. 

You, were laying on your back, your body pressed against your silk pillow cases as you pushed your dildo in and out of your pussy. You creamed around the ring of the base imagining it was Sam. Sam, breathlessly whispering obscenities in your ear, while he pressed a vibrator to your clit. 

“Take that one thing I got you, the small one. Fuck I can’t remember what it’s called but you know what I mean. Put it on your clit and keep fucking yourself and don't you dare stop until I say so.” He grunted out the command, and you knew it was driving him crazy not seeing you. It drove you crazy too, knowing you couldn’t see his face right now or feel his body crushing you like it should be right now.

‘What do you want me to do princess, tell me.” He pleaded. Sam always wanted to make you happy, his voice hoarse from moaning and calling your name for the past hour and a half. A moan jumped out of your throat as you shook on the bed. You knew what you wanted. You wanted Sam as messy as you. You wanted him with a messy thighs covered in your cum, but you knew that couldn’t happen. Not as long as you were two thousand miles away from him at the moment.

He was waiting for your instructions and who were you to deny him? As you pulled out the small vibrating egg he got for you, you switched it on before pressing it to your clit and using your free hand to thrust the dildo rhythmically inside of you. High pitched moans escaped you, your phone rest beside you on the bed while Sam groaned over the speaker. 

“I want you to make a mess on yourself. I want you to spit on your hand, and jerk off until you cum with me so we can both make a mess for each other.” And boy, did he love the sound of that. He chuckled, letting out a few curses and he followed your instructions. His tip was probably doing that cute thing it does when you keep him waiting. It was probably throbbing which he confessed to you feels incredibly weird.

“I love you, my favorite little pervert. You like fucking yourself when you think of me?” You moaned out a choked yes, your hips raising off the bed as you chased your orgasm. You couldn’t stop yourself, it was like you were possessed. Sam didn’t sound like he was doing too good either, as it sounded like he was vigorously fucking his hand like it was you. That should be you. You let your brain wander, imagining that the dildo that you were slamming into yourself hard enough that it hurt so good was Sam. 

That he was running his hands through your curls, leaving hard imprints on your skin, spanking you across your ass, and growling into your ear. That he was sucking on your dark nipples and bouncing you up and down on his dick while his brow furrowed in concentration. 

That did it. You felt it start in your toes, and your legs started trembling and you screamed out that you were cumming only to be responded too with a strangled noise.

“Fuckfuckfuck!” He hissed, and that was the last thing you were able to pay attention too.

You couldn’t hear anything else, the world rushed around you as your body shook and you came so hard you felt dizzy. Your eyes shut as you arched your back off the bed. True to Sam’s teachings, you held the vibrator on your clit as Sam has done to you so many times. It was one of the most intense orgasms of your life, while you screamed and moaned into Sam’s ear. Leave it to Sam to make you cum so hard you almost fall of the bed from across the country. As you reopened your eyes you heard Sam breathing hard while you tried to remember to breath.

You envisioned the mess he has made all over himself. His big dick probably throbbing and leaking cum, whatever hadn’t splattered against his stomach leaking slowly from the tip. Whenever Sam finishes, its left red and throbbing while Sam’s legs twitch and he shudders. His eyes water just a bit, especially if its a really intense one like this one. After a moment of silence Sam chuckled.

“Selfies?”

“Of course.”

[commonurmoml]

Too Perfect

Rafe Cameron x Routlege!female

Warnings: comfort, angst, drinking, language, drugs, heartbreak, fighting, crying, rafe and mc are broken up, parties, drunk driving

Words: 3.3k

=====================

They can already hear the music blast loudly, reverberating through the entire beach, even half a mile away. Of course this was the only party tonight, why wouldn't it be? Parties at the Boneyard bring everyone out; kook, pouge, hell even tourons show up. Rafe opens his phone to check if she's there, which Topper immediately snatches from him.

"Nope. No more stocking her. It's weird. You can have this back later." He says, shoving it into his pocket.

"I don't wanna fucking do this." Rafe grumbles, already high out of his mind, and his two friends roll their eyes; bored of the conversation they have had a thousand times. It's been three weeks and Rafe has refused to go anywhere where she might be so, being the dicks that they are, Topper and Kelce decided to drag him out to a party she was literally throwing. Ok, so technically it was John B's party but really... the two of them are inseparable.

"Dude, just don't talk to her." Topper shakes his head, glancing over at Rafe before focusing on the road again. "She's probably not even gonna be there." He lies. She definitely will. The party is literally being thrown by her brother. It would be shocking if she wasn't.

"Plus didn't YOU break up with HER?" Kelce chuckles. "I thought you were 'just using her to get under John B's skin'." He quotes what Rafe would always say when they questioned why he was dating her. Rafe turns fully in his seat to give Kelce a death glare.

"Shut the fuck up. No one asked you, bitch." Rafe spits the words like venom, the coke making him extra mean.

"Jesus, sorry. Didn't realize you were pussy whipped by a dirty fucking pouge." He laughs and Topper groans, the only sober one in the car and fully aware that he's gonna have to deal with Rafe.

"Dude, can we no-" Topper's attempt at peace is quickly cut off.

"Don't fucking call her that. I'll kill you." Rafe is now fully turned around and clumsily trying to climb into the back seat to hit Kelce. Topper is quick to put his hand out, trying to wrestle Rafe back into his seat while simultaneously not crashing the car. He thanks god when Rafe complies, sliding back down and waiting silently to arrive at the beach.

Once they arrive, the car shakes from the vibrations of the base that plays loudly around the crowded beach. The boys immediately get out and start to walk through large groups of people to get drinks. The second Rafe sees John B he stops in his tracks. When her brother is around, she normally isn't too far behind. Topper glances over to Rafe, immediately noticing he is no longer walking with the group.

"Kelce!" He stops his friend, who looks at him confused. Topper jerks his head, motioning to Rafe who is standing a couple feet behind them just staring at John B, JJ, Pope, and Kiara. He's looking for her.

"Jesus." Kelce mumbles, shaking his head, when he realizes what Rafe is looking at. He walks over to Rafe putting his hands on both of the taller boy's shoulders, pulling Rafe out of his trance. "Come on, creepy. Let's go get you a drink." He teases slightly, directing him to a keg.

"Yah." Rafe mumbles, filling a red solo cup with what is surely shitty beer. The three get their drinks and move off to the side of the beach that is more populated by kooks. Almost an hour passes and the three talk and hang out with some friends. Actually... Topper and Kelce talk and hang out with some friends. Rafe just stands there, looking for her.

"Dude." Topper deadpans, now under the influence and fully relaxed enough to tease his friend with Kelce. "You gotta stop staring, it's fucking weird." He says and Rafe just glares at him.

"Shut up. I'm not doing anything." Rafe poorly defends, bringing his drink up to his lips and taking a huge gulp of the warm beer.

"Sure." Kelce chuckles. "So you weren't surveying the whole beach for her." Rafe just rolls his eyes.

"You two are both dicks, why'd you even bring me here?" Rafe snaps.

"Fuck, cause we didn't think it was that big of a deal. Have some fucking fun. It's not like you were in love with her." Topper defends like it's the craziest idea in the world but his face drops the second he sees the look of guilt in Rafe's eyes. No. No fucking way. Rafe is practically a psychopath when it comes to girls. Rafe doesn't do love. No fucking way Rafe Cameron was in love with someone, much less a pouge.

"Right." Rafe mumbles, averting eye contact and now Topper and Kelce are both giving him looks of genuine shock. Like the kind of looks you give someone who tells you your mom just died.

"Rafe are y-" Kelce's words are cut off by none other than JJ Maybank.

"You need to leave." He states simply.

"Excuse me?" Rafe dramatically turns to him, getting threateningly in his face.

"You. Need. To LEAVE." JJ speaks to him in the way you would a child.

"And why the fuck is that?" Rafe drops his drink to push JJ, sending the shorter blond boy stumbling back into the sand. This is when John B, Kie, and Pope rush over, noticing the interaction when they hear a crowd of people 'ooo' at Rafe pushing JJ.

"Yo, what the fuck?" Kie says, helping JJ up.

"What's going on?" John B stands between the two as if he's taming two wild animals.

"He needs to leave." JJ says, trying to rush Rafe but both Pope and Kie hold him back.

"I didn't do shit!" Rafe defends, copying JJ's actions but John B is the one to prevent it this time. John B steps forward a bit, coming chest to chest with Rafe and preventing him from moving towards JJ any further without fully tackling him.

"Really? You didn't do anything? Can't think of anything you did? Dick." Kie yells at him, getting angry on behalf of her friend. A small feeling of guilt washes over Rafe.

"Where is she?" Rafe asks, looking between the group.

"Not here, and she somehow knows you're here."

"Wonder how." Topper quietly jokes to Kelce and the two chuckle. They know exactly how she knows he's here. She and Rafe downloaded life360 months ago when she freaked out because he got super fucked up and stopped responding. It was like two days, not even long enough to be a bender but he has still never felt worse about something he did then when he saw the worried tears in her eyes. He immediately agreed to download the app and promised to never delete it no matter what. It's the only thing they haven't deleted or blocked each other on. Part of him still doesn't want to break his promise. He wants to pretend like he hasn't gotten rid of it because he just forgot. He can pretend like he doesn't check on her at least five times a day till he's blue in the face, his friends know the truth.

"She ain't gonna come if you're here which is why you need to leave." JJ responds angrily. Rafe looks down at John B who is now glaring at him, protective of his sister.

"Bullshit." Rafe snaps.

"Dude, let's just go." Topper puts his hand on Rafe's shoulder, pulling him back a bit. The revelation that his player friend is, or at least was, in love kinda rocked him. He wants to get Rafe home before he does something he regrets, and fighting her brother and best friend while she's already mad at him is certainly regrettable.

"Yah, why don't you." JJ says and Pope scolds him, knowing his words aren't helping. Rafe looks between the group of pouges and then glances back at his friends. His eyes are wild and his head is on a constant swivel. He seems genuinely freaked out.

"You're not even having fun, let's just go. We can stop by Barry's and pick up some." Kelce suggests, picking up on Topper's thoughts that he is going to seriously regret this in the morning.

"Fine." Rafe mumbles, angrily turning away, not bothering to acknowledge anyone as he pushes past the crowds to find Topper's car. Topper and Kelce struggle to keep up with his quick pace, following closely behind. When they get to the car, Rafe is already sitting in the passengers seat, waiting for them.

"What the fuck is your problem? It's not like you were even having fun." Topper mumbles as he gets in the car, immediately starting it and driving off towards Barry's house.

"Bullshit she doesn't wanna be there if I am." Rafe grumbles, rolling his eyes at JJ's words.

"Can you blame her? Dude she told you she loved you and you dumped her." Kelce reminds. "And apparently you actually do fucking lov-."

"Shut up." Rafe cuts him off. "I don't." He tries to defend though it's the least confident he has ever sounded. Topper glances in his rear view mirror, making knowing eye contact with Kelce. A split in the road forces Topper to make a decision. Just turn right, get some coke from Barry and go home. Of course, he goes left. "Dude, this isn't the way to Barry's." Rafe mumbles, looking back at the direction they just came from.

"That's cause we're not going to Barry's." Topper slurs. This is a stupid decision and he knows it. Forcing Rafe to confront his issues never went well. "You gotta fucking talk to her because I can't deal with the bitching anymore." He looks over to see panic in Rafe's eyes.

"No. Not today. I'm not ready." He looks around, turning to Kelce for support in his decision to evade his problems.

"Sorry man, Topp's right. This shit is getting annoying."

"Fuck. I'm too fucked up to talk to her right now. What do I even say?" Rafe panics, looking around as if he will find an escape.

"I don't know but you better figure it out." Topper laughs, pulling into the driveway of the Château. The look Rafe gives him genuinely shocks him. He has never seen his friend look so vulnerable. "Rafe..." He doesn't know what to say.

"I'm fine." He insists but he makes no movement to get out of the car.

"Just talk to her. The worst that happens is that she doesn't want to talk." Kelce rolls his eyes, completely sprawled out across the back seat by now. Rafe forces himself out of the car, having no intention of looking like some love sick pussy in front of his friends. Topper rolls down the window, leaning in so he can talk to his friend who is quickly walking away.

"How long you think this will take?" Topper yells out.

"Don't wait up." Rafe yells back.

"Whoa! I don't think that's a good id-" He stops in his tracks, spinning around quickly and cutting his blonde friend off.

"I said don't wait up." His usually commanding tone back in his voice. He turns back and walks into the Château without even bothering to knock. He walks swiftly, his commanding presence not faltering... not until he hears her voice. It's quiet and muffled, coming from behind the closed door to her room at the end of the hallway, but it's her. It's the first time he's heard her voice since they broke up and the sound of it makes his stomach turn.

"I- I don't care if he's not there anymore, JJ. I'm not coming." She pauses, clearly waiting for him to speak on the other line. Her voice sounds hoarse and quiet. She seems tired and the amount of guilt that runs through him that the thought that it's his fault makes him want to throw up. She would normally have raised her voice by now but she just sounds tired. "I just don't wanna come. I'm not in the mood to see people." She pauses again, still not bothering to raise her voice. "No. No, Jesus Christ I'm not depressed... Ok well tell Pope I'm not... I'm serious... JJ... I'm fine, just let me sleep." She finalizes with a sigh, going silent once her call is presumably done.

After a moment, Rafe gathers back his composure and takes a deep breath, pushing his way into her room. She jumps at the sudden noise, terrified of someone breaking into her home.

"It's just me." Rafe tries to reassure, though he's not certain in this moment if that's better.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Her voice cracks and as she looks up at him he fully takes in her appearance. Her eyes are puffy watery and red, partly dried tears streaking across her cheeks. Her lips are cracked and dry and look as if they have been bleeding recently. Her nose is red and she sniffles a bit. Her body is contorted into a ball and wrapped in a blanket. Under he can see the blue sweatshirt that covers her body. His sweatshirt. Rafe wants to kill himself at the sight. He can't believe he's responsible for hurting her, the girl he promised to protect. The girl he promised to never let anyone hurt.

"I... I wanted to tell you I'm sorry." Rafe approaches her bed slowly as he apologizes. The closer he gets, the more she tries to control her tears. She doesn't really want Rafe to know how much she's hurting. What she doesn't know is he is hurting just as much.

"JJ put you up to this?" She rolls her eyes, making note to scold her friend for meddling. She quickly brings her hand to her face and wipes the tears away.

"No." He defends, carefully sitting on the bed next to her.

"Bullshit." She lets out a shaky laugh. "You don't apologize." She deadpans. He sighs and reaches out for her. When his hand touches hers, she jerks it away. "Rafe." She warns, the tears she just wiped away collecting in her eyes again.

"Baby." He begs, calling her the name on instinct.

"Don't." She demands, squeezing her eyes shut, a single tear falling down her cheek when she does so.

"I... I should have never broke up with you. I miss you."

"Rafe. Please don't do this to me. Don't say that because I will do it. I'll go running back into your arms and I'll get hurt again." She is now full on crying, looking at her ex-lover with blurry eyes.

"I'm not asking for you back. I just... I need you to know I miss you." He sighs. The reasons he broke up with her aren't gone. He wants nothing more than to love her. To kiss her but, he can't. "I lov-" She immediately cuts him off.

"Don't." She sobs outs. "Please don't say something you don't mean." She cries hard. He wraps his arms around her shaking body, his hand gripping the back of her head. He is overwhelmed by the feeling of her in his arms again. God, she smells so sweet.

"I'm so sorry." He whispers into her hair. He hates himself for making her cry like this. If he was anyone else, Rafe would have already beat him to a pulp. She just cries, allowing him to hold her because to be honest it has been the first time she has felt whole since they broke up. So, instead of pushing him away, she wraps herself around him and buries her head into his shoulder to cry into.

"Why?" Her voice is soft and weak. "Why did you leave?" She sobs again.

"I-" He doesn't want to tell her the real reason. How is he supposed to tell her she's too good for him? He really doesn't want her to blame herself. But, he's never lied to her and he's not gonna start now. "I'm fucked up." He whispers and she immediately shakes her head.

"Stop. I hate when you say that." She says between hiccups. "You're not fucked up."

"Yes I am. I'm violent, and angry, and I can't commit. You're too perfect for me. You deserve better."

"I don't want better. I want you. Shouldn't that be for me to decide Rafe?" She sobs, holding him closer.

"I know, princess but, I just can't ruin you. You're so sweet and perfect. I can't give you what you want."

"You don't know what I want." She attempts.

"I do. I know you. You want babies and a husband and love. I... I won't be a good father, or husband for that matter. Lord knows I don't have a good example. You deserve someone who doesn't snort five lines and try to kill someone every time something bad happens." He sighs.

"I don't care about any of that Rafe. I love you. I want you." She sobs, completely forgetting her plan of staying composed and away from him. He rubs up and down her back as she cries, letting their wordless presence hang in the air.

"I love you." He says softly and it shocks her so much that she actually gasps.

"Rafe..."

"I'm serious, princess. I love you. I'm so sorry. We can't be together. You have no clue how much I wish I could be the man you need. The man you deserve." He says, his words pulling more and more sobs out of her.

"You are what I need Rafe. Please. Don't do this to me." She cries, the break up hitting her all over again.

"You don't want me."

"Yes I do!" She raises her voice.

"Baby." He starts.

"No! It's not fair Rafe!" She yells again, pushing him away. "You don't get to make this decision on your own! If you don't love me, fine! But, if you do... you don't get to push me away because 'you're not good enough'. That's not fucking fair to me! Rafe I have been MISERABLE without you!" She lets out a sob. "It's only been three weeks and I feel like I'm dying." She whispers. "I can't do this for the rest of my life Rafe. Do you love me?" She questions. He looks down at her, tears in his own eyes, and places his hand on her cheek. His large hand consumes her entire face, his thumb rubbing away fat tears.

"Yes."

"Then be with me." She practically begs.

"It's not that simple." He says, placing his forehead against hers.

"Yes it is. You keep saying you're not the man I deserve but you are. You are sweet, to me at least," They both chuckle at her words. "and funny and protective. And sure, maybe you're a little angry but you want to be better. You're not sitting there like you don't have a problem. You are a better man because you want to be a better man. I love you, Rafe. Please." She begs and he sighs. She closes her eyes softly, slowly moving her mouth forward until her lips come into contact with his. He greedily kisses back, missing the way her lips feels on his.

"Baby." He mumbles against her mouth.

"What?" She whispers back. He takes her by the shoulders, pushing her back to arm's length so he can look her in the eyes when he says this.

"I wanna do this right this time. No bullshit hooking up for the first time in that stupid van at some stupid party. No waiting months to call you mine. No shit from your brother. No hiding you from my parents or friends. No dates on the mainland. I wanna take you out. Treat you right. Like how you deserve." She smiles, pulling his body in to hug her.

"Rafe." She whispers happily.

"Yah?" He asks against her shoulder.

"Please kiss me." He smiles into her shoulder, how could he say no to that?

[yandere-wishes]

ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕚𝕔 𝔹𝕠𝕠𝕜 𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖

Synopsis: You finally realize that you and Miguel are stuck inside a comic book romance. 

Warnings: Yandere themes, angst, the reader has Stockholm syndrome but can we really blame her? 

There's something about a sleepless night that's lethal. A loaded gun aimed point blank at your head and your heart and your eyes that are too weary to recall the difference between fact and fiction. Right and wrong.

Miguel should be home soon you think as you stare at the Daily Bugle's nightly broadcast. The headlines are the same as last week's villain attack and the week before that, and the week before that. 

'SPIDERMAN REPORTED DEAD AFTER TANGLE WITH NUEVA YORK'S NEWEST VILLAIN!'

 You think this is the 18th time he's died this month. A hologram dances in front of you, some withering reporter adamant in his claim that this time. This time for sure Spiderman is dead. A Harrowing claim, one you know to be false. Your lover isn't so easy to kill, you should know on account of how many times you had tried. Back when you'd painted Miguel O'Hara as the villain in your story, back when you were so obstinate to return to a wholly ignorant life of so-called freedom. 

Miguel can't die, you refuse to believe that a man like that is subject to such a mortal thing. 

You use to try to imagine a Miguel that had grown old. You couldn't back then and still can't today. Because heroes are eternal, or so you've come to believe.  They die a hundred deaths and reawaken younger than before. Heroes aren't immortal -that's the part that makes your heart skip a beat- yet death has never had the chance to lay claim to them. Miguel is fine you're sure of it. 

There's a noise, a disturbance in the wind, the sound of thousands of coiled webs being used to sling across the air.

A sign that Spiderman has arrived.

He's here.

You can't help but smile. 

"What's the old man saying this time?" 

You turn to see Miguel, land at the edge of the rooftop. Legs limb as he staggers towards you. With a defeated moan he sits down. Close enough for you to inspect the galaxy of bruises that dance across his stunning face. 

When did you fall in love with him, again? 

"You're supposed to be dead," you say, a bitter laugh following, the peculiar words.

"I think that's the 14th time the Bugals had a spread on me dying" He chuckles, dry and humorless. 

You bite your tongue to avoid correcting him. 

"Who was it this time? Venom or Flipside?" you ask, trying to guess which of the two had been able to give the Miguel O'Hara a run for his money. 

"Just some kid, from another dimension. Mocoso already screwed up the canon once, and he's damn well trying to do it again. He used Spider Bite to send himself home, so I didn't get the chance to..." He doesn't bother finishing that sentence. Doesn't have to, you've seen worlds collapse upon themselves because a tiny imperfection had distraught the canon. You know why he does this. You know why he must do this. No one is exempt from the canon. No matter how young and naive they may be. 

How peculiar the life of superhumans are. For all the guts and glory every hero's world is only bounded by thin silk strings. Perpetually on the verge of collapse should the chosen one refuse to follow destiny's orders. 

Heroes aren't pretty, they neither sparkle nor shine. Instead, they burn with a self-lit fire that grows out of control, burning until only ashes remain. Heroes are tragedies swung across every dimension. War-torn children with blood under their fingernails and chipped teeth from one too many close calls. Heroes aren't pretty, nor beautiful, nor divine. They're mangled creatures who come alive at night, staggering across half-lit streets doing what they believe is right. 

You've tried to commit this to memory. Tried to memorize it so you wouldn't make the same mistakes as every lovesick idiot who's fallen in love with a superhero. 

But sometimes it's so hard to remember, especially when Miguel has been your only companion for months now. The only person you have to talk to. The only person who is there in the early hours of the morning when even sleep abandons you. And he's always there again at night to tuck you in before he departs to fight whoever has broken the few simple rules that the canon calls for. You've almost come to appreciate his paranoia and insistence that you stayed locked inside the penthouse. Although he's grown a bit bolder as of late. Permitting you free range of the terrace and rooftop. A sign of good faith, he'd called. Whilst you'd presume that he's come to enjoy you waiting outside to greet him when he returns from the miseries of being a golden boy. 

"I try to save everyone, I try to make sure the universe is held upright. So why the hell does everyone always treat me like I'm the villain?" His voice is raising, fangs glowing in loose rays of starlight. His hands are crossed in annoyance. You rest your hand on his arm as you snuggle closer.

Heroes and villains, what's the difference? 

That's a question the two of you have been pondering for too long now. 

Even though you doubt  Miguel truly knows who he is. It's hard to fall into the orderly boxes of 'good' and 'bad' when the fate of every universe lies on your already brittle shoulders. 

He's a hero who acts like a villain. That's what you use to call him. Back when he'd first plucked you away from your ordinary mundane life.Deeming the world too dangerous for a defenseless little civilian such as yourself. He had promised to love you, to cherish you. Back when you'd been so resistant to play the role of the hero's lover. But seeing as how no matter what nightmares he went through as Spiderman, he had still kept those two promises. You had slowly started to grow fond of him

Time and time again Miguel has made you feel like a butterfly caught in a spider's web. Wings clipped and waiting for the inevitable. He's overbearing to the point where his sheer presence feels like a boulder placed on your chest. Or maybe his strings have finally found their way to your heart, coiling around the organ controlling its every beat and pulse. Yet somehow, somehow, you started to desire more and more of him.

You're in love with the hero who plays the villain. 

You're in love with the villain who bares a hero's mask. 

"You should be more careful when dealing with the other spiders. I hear they're not all as precautious as you." Your fingers trace the purpling marks on his cheek.  Sliding from one universe to another. 

You know Miguel isn't a tiny spider he's a bloodthirsty tarantula. Yet you still worry. Fear that one day he may fail to return home. 

"You shouldn't worry about me preciosa,"

"Someone has to, Miguel, you're not as indestructible as you may think."

"If I kiss you will you stop complaining?"

There's no room to answer, his lips rest on yours, forceful and sweet. Captivating, dominating, and as always overbearing. His fangs slowly sink into the back of your lips. That familiar iron taste invades your mouth once again. 

Sometimes Miguel feels like a hero, shouldering the universe's burdens, and fighting for what's right. After all, with great power comes great responsibility. This is what he wanted, he always wanted to be the hero.

But sometimes when the spider's lair is abandoned and he returns home to you, he can't help but feel like the villain. He's protecting you he knows that. Justifying it is easy when you watch dimensions wither away in violent glitching and endless screams, daily. Yet he wonders if his predecessors were ever like this. If the heroes are supposed to keep their lovers locked away. Alone yet safe. A fair trade in his mind. 

Miguel isn't quite human, half-everlasting and half-horror. 

A dangerous combination

Or at least a confusing one. 

The point is he's some sort of hero. But that also means he's some sort of villain. Even the old tales got things wrong, not every superhero is carved from porcelain and ivory. Not every villain is built from ash and rage.  

Sometimes heroes are carved from gravestone granite and glazed with poison. Sometimes their powers are self-inflicted curses that chew away at flesh and bone. sometimes the hero's halo is made of barbed wire digging into his scalp and embittering his thoughts. Sometimes heroes kill themselves before any villain gets the chance. Spitling their body apart a million times a day because destiny decided to play a cruel joke on them. Picking the weakest of all mankind to become its guardian. 

When he pulls away from the kiss, he lifts your hand to his mouth. 

His fangs sink into your finger puncturing bone as he gnaws the stress away. Blood leaks down his chin, spilling over the rooftop. He pulls your body closer. An anchor in a never-ending storm. 

You kiss his chin, looking into his eyes. Eyes that can never choose whether they wish to be human or monster. Your head instinctively finds his chest nestling into the cold metal of his suit. 

Oh, how you wish you could crack his rib cage open and crawl inside. 

Sometimes you think back to the original tales. The ones from your dimension, albeit it seems that -regardless of a few rare exceptions- the stories are consistent in every universe.  

The story always goes the same. Peter Parker falls in love with MJ or Gwen, you've come to learn that in the long run, it doesn't really matter. Spiderman saves them again and again. Until the whole world knows that Mj or Gwen are somehow connected to the masked hero. But never once does she leave his side. Rebellious blond or dotting redhead, Spiderman's lover stays regardless of how desperate and vicious the villains become when they start to learn that the story always ends in the hero's favor. 

It's every gal's dream to be the lover of a superhero. Awaiting their betrothed's triumphant return. Greeting them with amorous tidings and cherry red kisses. 

You think you're Gwen or Mary Jane. Or whoever else decided to fall in love with the troubled boy who has radioactivity coursing through his veins. The boy who was deemed a hero and thus was destroyed because of it.

Of course, there's the other part. The underlying message of the story, that parents all so conveniently 'forget' to tell their children. The disease of the otherwise perfect tale. They forget to tell you that Gwen Stacy fell to her death and Mary Jane is left abandoned, once the hero realizes that his mere presence is a curse. Stories may end in the hero's favor but much like the villain the lover is also doomed by the narrative. That's normal for any hero's lover. They always burn out to cater to the hero's ever-fuming torch of justice.

you feel broken, as you're sure they did too. An unspoken rule of being with a hero is that eventually, you start to lose your sense of self without them. It doesn't make sense when you put it like that but along the way bits and piece of you broke off. Pieces that you forgot to patch up. You've been mending by using segments of Miguel to make yourself feel whole again. It's a small miracle that you still hold a fading memory of whom you used to be before he made you his. A miracle that sweeps through the cracks of your soul. 

Heroes never need to fear death, just an eternity of pain. Losing everyone they love, over and over again. Maybe that's why Miguel's grip is so suffocatingly tight. He knows that eventually, not today and maybe not tomorrow but eventually he's going to lose you too. 

You're a comic book Juliet and he's Romeo with superpowers. Everyone knows that comic book heroes are doomed from the start. Neither you nor Miguel are exceptions. 

Maybe the two of you are doomed by the narrative.

But for tonight, as the moon slowly sinks behind the skyscrapers and the stars fade one by one. The two of you are safe in each other's arms. 

[raayllum]

au where finnegrin's bluffing

"No, no wait!"

The words rush out of him like water, quick and anguished, mind racing. He read the spell just once, not wanting to pay any more mind to what had been used to avenge his mother, but it'd still been burned into his brain.

"A dying breath!" he bursts, chest threatening to cave in. If Finnegrin would just turn around then—"Blood filled with hatred, and a-a unicorn horn."

Guilt and relief wage war as the captain turns to face him; the bruises on his face, the ache from the electrocution seem to hurt twice as much. Withstanding all that harm and for what? For—for Rayla, though she'd loathe it. But he can't—he can't—

Callum can't meet the pirate's eye as he swallows, admitting, "That's the dark magic you want. Just..." His chest is so tight it's hard to breathe. He manages to raise his head. It'll be worth it if Finnegrin will just—"Just let her go." His voice creaks, cracks. He's begging and they both know it.

The captain pauses, then ponders, and then grins. Then he starts to laugh, hearty and cruel.

Callum glares at him, trying to put the pieces together. He pulls at his chains. He doesn't understand, but—"What are you waiting for?" he demands. He wants to punch the man all over again, to beat him senseless and—"Tell them to let her go!"

Finnegrin wipes a tear of mirth from his eyes and then bends down, grinning. "Oh, m'boy. So gullible. Your precious elf girl was never really in any true danger."

Staring, Callum keeps struggling, but less so. The snake rattle slips down from his sleeve and into his palm for reasons he can't (or doesn't want to) explain. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, do you see her tied up?"

"No, but—"

"Can you hear her screaming?"

His ears strain. One of Finnegrin's windows is cracked open just enough to hear the constant knocking of the waves. He still wants to punch that smug sneer from just the thought of Rayla screaming off Finnegrin's stupid face. "Well no, but—"

Finnegrin sets down Bait's cage. "You were so composed overall, you know—barely even screamed. Then you saw her in pain, and well, we've discussed your little display already haven't we? Unchained and you could've taken me down easily with a spell, but no. Just nothing but pure, raw, emotion." He hefts an overdramatic sigh. "Young love, I suppose. You didn't seem to think when it came to her, and I wanted to test if that was true. If you'd give me what I wanted after all." Finnegrin adjusts his cuffs, his smirk growing. "Thought I'd try a pirate's bluff. Worked out quite nicely, wouldn't you say?"

Callum's mind is still racing, heart beating loudly in his ears as his feelings try to catch up to his mind. "Wait, so she's—"

"Safely in the brig with the rest of your little friends. For now. But if you disrespect me again, boy, we'll see just how far I have to press that on weakness to get you to cooperate. I expect you'll have an idea or two of how to track down a unicorn, won't you, once we get back to Scumport?"

Callum glowers at him, eyes burning as Finnegrin whistles while he leaves, the door thudding shut behind him.

The mage runs his thumb over the groove in the snake's rattle tail, debating.

How does he know doing dark magic a second time won't unleash Aaravos? How does he know he could make it to the others, find the others, even if he did free himself? How would they get off the ship with a storm rolling in, rain and wind lashing at the windows? A bit of water seeps onto the floor.

Callum tucks the rattle back into his sleeve.

For later, once he has the answer to his questions—because he will not let Finnegrin hurt Rayla just to get to him.

Not again.

[copperbadge]

Feeling a little overly perceived by Dr. Dodson right now, not gonna lie.

I'll throw a transcript under the cut, but both reading the transcript and listening to the video can be difficult as it's quite long, so here's some highlights. As always, these are the opinions of a specialist but only one specialist, so take with a grain of salt, and if you have research to add to this, please feel free to comment or reblog with it. I believe this presentation is from sometime in 2022.

ADHD appears to derive from issues in the corpus striatum in the brain. In most people, the corpus striatum filters out all but the most important input AND output; with ADHD, the things normally handled "outside of awareness" must be handled consciously.

People with ADHD don't see their emotions coming. Emotion is immediate, intense, and unfiltered, making therapies like CBT or ACT difficult, because you can learn the technique but you won't have time to employ it. Because people with ADHD have impulse control issues, expressing emotions "inappropriately" is common, leading people with ADHD to believe they can't trust themselves.

One function of ADHD-typical dysregulation is Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria, which nobody understands even a little. People who have it can't even adequately describe it to people who want to study it. It is intense, painful, and apparently impossible to control. Prevention is based in maladaptive behaviors designed to avoid it entirely (perfectionism, people pleasing, generalized withdrawal). The only currently known treatment is alpha agonist medication.

Lastly, by the age of twelve, a child with ADHD has likely received twenty thousand more "negative or corrective" messages than their neurotypical peers. (This isn't relevant to the rest, I just found it sufficiently horrifying to warrant inclusion. Fortunately for me, if I got 20,000 negative or corrective messages, I wasn't paying attention for most of them.)

Anyway, here's the transcript of the first half. I did this by copying and cleaning up the auto-transcript on YouTube, but I stopped at Question Time, so this is only the first half (the presentation). Transcription of the second half is available at YouTube.

There is suddenly a very large interest in the whole subject of emotional dysregulation and ADHD. That has been driven oddly enough by the Food and Drug Administration, which has just opened up several pathways that drug companies can study emotional dysregulation and whether or not their medications can get an FDA indication for emotional dysregulation. So it's sort of follow the money. Up until then, there was not a great deal of interest for ADHD emotional dysregulation.

We have to understand that the ADHD diagnostic criteria were not made for people like you and me, either practitioners or people who have ADHD or their families. They were designed for and made by people who do research and pretty much that's it. People who do research have to have criteria that they can physically see and count. "Little Johnny was up and out of his chair three times in the last hour," and you can write a three on your clipboard. Things which are invisible, not always there, hard to count, or even hidden by the patient, don't lend themselves to research very easily and so tend to be ignored. And so consequently this is one of the main reasons why emotional dysregulation -- until there was some other motive provided -- was pretty much ignored and disregarded.

Consequently ADHD right now, if you look at the 18 diagnostic criteria, are almost entirely behavioral criteria. What is the person doing? Not how is the person thinking, what is the patient feeling, how are they controlling their emotions, how are they sleeping. Things that are all very, very important to the person who has ADHD but which is essentially ignored by the diagnostic criteria.

Why should you care? Who really cares about this? Well, the definition of what ADHD is and isn't defines who and what will be studied. It defines who will actually get into a study and what questions will be asked. It defines who will be diagnosed with ADHD and who will not. One of the most common problems I get is with a secondary referral to me -- somebody clearly has ADHD but they're not pinging off the walls, they can sit and do their work, especially when they get into a hyperfocus, and so they're told they couldn't possibly have ADHD. When really they just have the inattentive subtype and they're not being driven by their behavior, their overt behavior. Therefore it defines who will get treatment, who will get insurance coverage for that treatment, and who will get accommodations in school when they're young and at the workplace when they're older.

Consequently we should also care because the other major components of ADHD get ignored. These are the ones that if you really stand back and look at it cause the greatest amount of impairment, the greatest amount of embarrassment, the greatest amount of just…problems in general. We're talking about cognition and thinking, that people with ADHD fundamentally think in a different way than do neurotypical people. They are able to engage with the tasks of their lives in a totally different way. Their ability to control their emotions and their behavior, control their emotional responses, tremendously affects their self-esteem and their self-definition. Who am I? What am I worth? What am I valued? Why am I valued in a certain way? What do other people think of me?

It affects tremendously the nature and healthiness of relationships. How you respond emotionally to the people in your realm makes a great deal of difference about the healthiness and gratification you get from your relationships. Being highly dysregulated in terms of your energy and emotions also affects deeply how well you sleep, how easy it is to fall asleep and awake refreshed, and of course it affects emotional dysregulation.

And this is probably, when you look at it in the long term and especially with adults, probably the most impairing part of the ADHD syndrome. The vast majority of people with ADHD have found ways around their academic and work performance, but they haven't found their way around their emotional reactions to the people and events of their lives.

At all points in the life cycle -- child, adolescent, adult, and elderly -- people who have ADHD nervous systems lead intense, passionate lives. Their highs are higher, their lows are lower, all of their emotions are much more intense. And that really is what we're talking about: not really the quality of the emotions -- people who have ADHD have the same types of emotions for the same reasons that everybody else does. What we're talking here, in terms of dysregulation, is two things: one, the expression of emotions, being able to choose whether or not you let an emotion out. And then, when you do decide to express it, how intensely that emotion is experienced and expressed by you as a unique individual.

Consequently just about everybody with ADHD, but especially little children, are always at some sort of risk of being overwhelmed by their own emotions from within themselves. This is something that needs to be really emphasized: a lot of people with ADHD grow up not being able to trust themselves.

So why is this happening, especially to people with ADHD? I think that just about everybody now would agree that ADHD is primarily a problem of insufficient inhibition, being able to slow down and keep things from happening. If you look at the mass of the human brain, 85% of all the nerves in your brain and out in your nervous system are inhibitory in function. We happen to be aware of the other 15% because we can see what happens when those nerves are used: they create movement, they create emotions, they create our experience and memory. We have to remember they are a minority of the actual mass of the human brain.

Most of what happens inside the brain occurs outside of awareness. What happens is the brain starts something, it gets it moving, and then uses inhibition to guide that toward the destination it wants. It's like shooting off a rocket -- shooting it off is the easy part, guiding it to where you want it to go is the hard part.

When you look at where stimulant class medications work, they work solely in the deep areas of the brain down in the basal ganglia, and especially in an area called the corpus striatum, which is just Latin for a "striped body". That's how it looks when you look at it -- it's got many very fine stripes in it. This area, the corpus striatum, is almost entirely inhibitory in function. What it does is that it inhibits neurological input and output to just the one piece of information or one action that happens to be most important at that time. Everything else gets handled, but it gets handled out of awareness.

Probably the easiest place to see this in action is when we're driving a car. Driving a car is the most difficult thing that the average human being ever has to learn how to do. It's a very difficult process, if anybody has ever had an adolescent learning to drive. But once we learn how to drive a car we do it largely outside of our own conscious awareness. We can drive along, talk to the person on the seat next to us, think about what we're going to have for dinner, sing along to the radio, and not really pay attention, conscious attention, to what's going on around us. But if suddenly something is out in front of the car, even before our conscious brain can process what that thing is, our corpus striatum has already handled it. Slam on the brakes, swerve to miss it, start to question that person's parentage, in the twinkling of an eye. The corpus striatum has been scanning everything, handling everything.

So basically what ADHD is, is that relative lack of inhibition that should be there. Inattention, which is a cardinal feature of ADHD, is the relative lack of the inhibition of other inputs or distractions. When we look at physiologically what's happening, we don't actually pay attention to one thing. Neurologically, we suppress every other thing we might engage with except the one thing that we want. It is maximally inefficient in that way.

Impulsivity is a relative lack of inhibition, of the expression of actions and emotions before you can think about them and make decisions about that expression. Hyperactivity is the relative lack of inhibition of physical and mental activity. When the physical activity of the hyperactive little boy who's pinging off a wall goes away in adolescence, they're still very much mentally active in their own brains.

So what? The “so what” for most of us is that when this area of the brain is not working as it should, people cannot regulate the experience and expression of their emotions. Emotions are experienced as completely unmodified and unscreened. The word that most people use is that they are raw. They come out without any modification at all, they go in without any modification at all. People can see this in hyperacusis, where somebody chewing or the conversation across the restaurant comes in loud and clear because it can't be screened out.

All this is tremendously overwhelming. We get overwhelmed by entirely too much input, and the impulse to have entirely too much output. It's exhausting, and when it does get inappropriately expressed it's embarrassing, so consequently people with ADHD must always be vigilant of themselves.

Now, when we look at the traditional therapies that have been used, or tried to be used, with ADHD, they have had very very poor track records. They're largely ineffective in helping people control the expression of what they think and feel. The reason for this is that people with ADHD don't see their own emotions, their own actions, coming. They find out about their emotions and actions the same way everybody else does: it's already out there before they even know that it's coming. Consequently they don't have the time and the warning to use the techniques and new skills that they may have learned in behavior modification therapy, or in cognitive therapy. They learned them, learned them perfectly well, but the cat’s out of the bag before they can make use of them.

Right now, as we sit here today, medications are the only thing we have to offer that have a proven track record, because they're there all the time. We have two basic groups: we have the stimulant class medications which are amphetamine, methylphenidate, et cetera, which help directly with inhibition. They help slow things down, they help inhibit both input that would distract us and output. It gives you the same two seconds that everybody else has, to see an emotion or an action coming up, to play it out in your mind. “If this happens then this will happen, then that'll happen. Oh, I don't want that to happen, I'll redirect it.”

The alpha agonist, of which we have two -- guanfacine and clonidine -- inhibit the energy driving the speed and intensity of response. Interesting enough, when we look at just clean effectiveness, when we measure how effective is this treatment, the alpha agonists are significantly more effective than are the stimulants. Usually that's kind of a false choice, because most people end up taking both classes of medication.

A very special type, I think, of emotional dysregulation is -- again a terrible technical term -- what's called Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria. We actually don't know what it is. It's much too early to tell. But it does seem to be a thing with which many people with ADHD identify. There was a brief article from ADDitude that got posted on Reddit, on their subreddit on ADHD; that particular posting got twice as many responses, in less than a month, than any other posting that had ever been put on that subreddit. It really touched a lot of people in a strong way.

In my own checklist, when I'm asking about Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria, the question I have is: “For your entire life, in other words going all the way back into childhood, have you always been much more sensitive than other people you know to rejection, teasing, criticism, or your own perception that you’ve failed or fallen short?” This is directly from a psychiatric textbook, an old one, and it's the definition of a technical term, for psychiatrists called Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria.

It's important to note, this is all a matter of degree. No one likes being rejected or criticized. Everybody hates it when we fail, we fall short, especially in front of other people. Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria is much more intense, and is much more than this universal discomfort.

When they were originally doing the research on this particular idea, 45 years ago, they wanted to get that intensity right up there in the name, and so they chose the word dysphoria -- which unfortunately happens to be Greek -- but it means “unbearable”. Because that was the description they were getting from people over and over and over again. Again, for reasons unknown, people with rejection sensitivity have trouble describing what the intense emotion is all about. They can describe its intensity -- “it's awful, it's terrible, it's catastrophic,” -- but not the quality of the mood. And so, over and over again, these research subjects would finally just tell the researcher, “Look, man, back off. I can't find words to tell you what this awful feeling feels like, but I want you to know I can hardly stand it.” And so that's where the word dysphoria came from. A researcher at Harvard who decided to put it into Greek, but that unbearable quality is very much a part of what's going on, a part of the experience of Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria.

It's extremely common in people with ADHD; my guess is that about 95% of my patients report it as a significant impairment, and about a third of my patients say that it is by far the most impairing part of their ADHD. For the majority of people, and most occurrences, it is not that particularly disruptive, but when it hits, it turns your life upside down.

So how is rejection sensitivity experienced? There's no warning. It hits out of the blue; there's no way to protect yourself from it. It happens all at once, it goes from zero to a hundred percent instantaneously. It is commonly experienced as being physically painful, as if someone just punched you in the chest or punched you in the stomach -- there's an aching in the core of your being.

Once it gets started it seems to be largely uncontrollable until it's run its course, whatever it is. The quality of the mood is indescribable. Most people struggle to find any words at all to describe this feeling, even though it's massively intense. The duration can be a few minutes to several months. It's a very potent experience and can make it very difficult to risk ever being rejected or criticized again.

If this very intense emotional reaction is internalized, it looks for all the world like an instantaneous major depression, complete with suicidal thinking. And so a lot of times people do get a diagnosis of major depression, because the clinician they're working with fails to pick up the triggered, instantaneous nature of the onset of that depressive-looking syndrome. If it's externalized, it presents as a rage that is directed at the person or situation that wounded them so terribly. In fact, being “wounded” is is a very common description. This sort of sudden trigger change, with an intense emotional response, not uncommonly leads to a misdiagnosis of borderline character organization.

So if you can't see it coming, and you can't do anything once it's happened, how do people try and protect themselves from episodes of rejection sensitivity happening in the first place? Some people use perfectionism; they try to be above reproach. They feel driven to be the very best at everything they do. These are the penultimate overachievers. It works, but it's also an absolutely terrible, driven way in which to live.

By far the most common response is that people become people pleasers. They are constantly scanning everybody around them and trying to figure out what that person wants or would approve of, and that's what they give them, so much so that it is the to the exclusion of what they want for their own lives. These are people who take care of others, please others, to the exclusion of any sort of gratification in their own lives.

Another very common way that people try to deal with this is that they give up trying anything new, giving up anything in which they might fail or be embarrassed. I have hundreds of patients who have never been able to apply for a job or ask someone of the opposite sex out for a date. Just the imagination of being told no is so frightening, so devastating, that they just say, “No, I'm not going there. I'll sit this one out.”

One of the most effective ways of dealing with this are the alpha agonist medications, and when they work they can be almost completely effective. Alpha agonist again is a tongue twisting name, but it's not as tongue-twisting as the full name, which is alpha-2 selective adrenergic agonists. So you can see why we shorten it a bit. They were originally blood pressure medications that came on the market in the early 1980s. They worked very poorly -- when they did work, at most they lowered blood pressure about 10%, which was measurable but it still required other things that needed to be done in order to get most people's blood pressure down into a therapeutic range.

We have two of them, guanfacine which was marketed both as immediate release and extended release under the name of Intuniv, and clonidine, which was marketed under the trade name of Kapvay, both as an immediate release product and as a delayed release product. They have been used as a treatment of the hyperactive component of ADHD for more than 30 years, so these are not new medications for the field of ADHD. They're very much the treatment of choice for the “hyperactive, disruptive, and obnoxious little boy” that is what most people have in their minds when they consider the notion of “What does a person with ADHD look like?”

The exact mechanism of action of these medications both in ADHD and especially in rejection sensitivity is highly unclear. We really don't know -- we have a couple of ideas but they are very definitely theoretical. The only thing that we know for sure is that the stimulants don't work by stimulating anything, and that the alpha agonists don't work by being alpha agonists. How they do work is completely unknown.

We have two medications, they seem to work equally well, so there's nothing that would lead you to choose one over the other. The problem is that the robust response that we're looking for that really changes people's lives, is disappointingly low -- at about 30% to either molecule. Luckily that 30% is a different 30% of people, so that 30% of people get a good response to guanfacine but it's largely a different 30% that get a response to clonidine. So if the first medication tried does not work, it makes good clinical sense that that one should be stopped and the other one tried. There was an unfortunately worded sentence in an article I wrote for ADDitude several years ago that gave the impression that you could use the two medications together; they should not be used together. You try one, if that doesn't work you try the other.

The typical dose of either one is in the range of three milligrams of guanfacine per day or about three tenths of a milligram of clonidine per day. If you take all the people who get a good robust response to either one of these medications, about 80% are going to end up at these doses, so it's by far the most common dose.

There are of course side effects. Anything that's going to adjust the adrenaline system of the body is going to have the potential for sedation as a side effect, and this does occur for about 25% of people. It's usually mild and it does go away -- over a period of several months. So a person has to be fairly patient with that. It can cause dry mouth, and it's by a different mechanism then the stimulants can cause dry mouth, so the two of them together can really make your mouth cottony dry. And the third one is an accentuation of a universal experience we've all had, when we stand up quickly and suddenly and we get dizzy, get kind of a head rush, vision goes a bit gray. The technical term for it is orthostasis. And this can happen more frequently when you take the alpha agonist medications.

The benefits of the alpha agonist medications take a while to develop. When you change the dose it takes five days for the benefits to develop, so once again they're not like the stimulants where what you see is what you get at one hour. It takes a while for these medications to work and to see all that they can do.

Now just as a side note, Strattera has been looked at in two studies for emotional dysregulation and the results have been what they call mixed. If they did work it was only to a very minimal degree, almost undetectable, so Strattera does not seem to be a medication one could use and expect to have it help with emotional dysregulation.

So in summary, emotional dysregulation is a basic feature of ADHD, is almost universal in ADHD, and it should be considered as a core symptom of ADHD that ought to be evaluated in every initial evaluation. Rejection sensitivity…it's unclear yet -- this is an old concept that has only been brought up in the last couple of years. Its exact nature is still unclear. It does seem to be a specific form of emotional dysregulation, especially in regard that it does respond very well to medication. But again, how it fits into emotional dysregulation is completely unclear at this point. It does seem to be something that's really important, though. It is a thing that resonates with a large number of people with ADHD.

[colorfullyminded]

TLDR

Okay I cannot believe I'm about to go off like this, but this has been bothering me for awhile, and it's only making me more spiteful. I have been enjoying the influx of Billford art lately. Amazing, great wonderful. What I have Not been enjoying, is the absolute vitriol the Billdip fans have been getting since the influx of TBOB. I was a billdip shipper for awhile. Hell I was a billdip shipper when I was a Parapines shipper-- I liked shipping Dipper with boys. I was also like 14 or 15 at the time. Obviously, if you follow me now, you'll probably notice what my main ship for Dipper is. I grew out of Billdip, and moved on to Pinescone. I have been shipping Pinescone for 10 years. However, not once did I go around saying "Lol, glad I matured and became a better person and shipped something healthier", nor did I post in the billdip tag, condeming people for a fictional ship! And saying mine was better because it was less problematic.

"I'm really glad people stopped shipping Bill and Dipper together. Bill is a 1000 year old triangle demon, and Dipper is 13--" Stop. Repeat what you just said.

"Bill is 1000 year old triangle--"

Repeat that last word to me. "....triangle?" TRIANGLE! I'm sorry what?! This ship is already completely wild enough. You're getting mad at this fictional age gap-- AND BILL IS A FUCKING SHAPE! A FUCKING SHAPE! This ship was weird from the moment GO! And Billford isn't any better. IT'S STILL A SHIP WITH A FUCKING SHAPE! And you're going to sit on your high horse and look down on the Billdip community. On top of it-- they have an age gap too! Bill is still thousands of years old or whatever-- however long it's been, who knows? And Ford was in his 20s or so when he met Bill. That's still a huge, ridiculous age gap-- that Bill could easily use and manipulate; which he did....and then also caught feelings and became a sad ex, but that's beside the point~ Both of these ships are still insane. And again, the bigger thing I think people are just ignoring about these ships--is that Bill is a TRIANGLE! THREE LINES CONNECTED TOGETHER! And this is the hill you're going to die on? ...Cause apparently it's mine. First of all-- as many people pointed out-- Ford Pines did not exist until the second half of the final season. People couldn't ship Fordbill because there wasn't any Ford to introduce.

"Well, even before Ford, I never shipped Billdip! I always disliked it." ...Okay, that's totally fine. Not everyone needs to like or agree on the same ship. Lord knows there's probably people who don't really care for Pinescone either. There's a lot of popular ships that I can't stand. But I'm don't go into a ship tag I don't like, screaming to a void for self validation. I don't go around mocking other people for ships that they had in 2014-- or even still today! It doesn't matter! I did that when I was a kid-- and then realized that was rude, and it was better to just ignore the ships I didn't like and enjoy the ones that made me happy. And grow a community of kind, like minded friends. And listen, I am all for safe spaces and being able to block things that make you uncomfortable. I am not saying people who find the BillDip ship uncomfortable to be idiots or babies or overly sensitive-- or anything like that. I think if something makes you uncomfortable, that is okay and I think it's perfectly fine to blacklist a tag that you don't want to see. I also think it's imperative that people tag things as accurately as they can so people looking at your work can know if one of your pieces has a thing that they don't like-- and therefore can avoid. What I don't appreciate is the fanhate for this ship that is sprouting up like weeds. You can not like something, you can be disgusted by it (I have my Gravity Falls ships I can not stand, nor do I feel comfortable with), but attacking real people for a FICTIONAL SHIP-- two characters who are drawings on a piece of paper and can not be affected mentally, physically or emotionally by fanwork; who still retain the same shape after everything we put them through-- to the point that you send death threats, or threaten to Doxx, or just harass relentlessly, I have always found that more childish and disgusting. You are causing real world pain to people. Me fucking up Dipper Pines is not going to do anything to him-- because he doesn't actually exist. He's a cartoon character. I could squash him and stretch him in Wonka's taffy machine--- I could throw him mock speed at a wall and watch him explode on impact-- but he still exists. He's not dead; I can pick him up and dust him off, and If I wanted-- I could decide that eh, 'Not a scratch on him'. And I'd be right. Because he is a cartoon character, and I am just a fangirl. I can not change anything about him-- I have no ability to make anything I headcanon canon. And even if I was the original artist-- it doesn't change the fact that Dipper would still be nothing more than a creation. A construct of shapes; he can not be hurt or traumatized in a way that leads to real life consequences-- because he is not real. I am not a cartoon character. My friends are not cartoon characters. Artist and Writers who stay in their lane...are not cartoon characters. If you hurt us...it will linger. It will leave a scar. If you can not tell the difference between Fiction and Reality, then I think maybe media might be too much to handle-- and I think you need to really reevaluate yourself.

And just to vent some other things that i keep seeing that are frustrating: You can't claim the twins are only 13-- and then on August 31st go "Happy 20-something Birthday Mabel and Dipper!" And then proceed to drop a picture of them as adults. Well which is it? Do they age or not? Because Gravity Falls showed them canonically aging. If you think the twins age-- then you can't suddenly turn around and go, 'no you can't ship them-- Dipper is a child!' but you drew him as an adult. So sorry, it looks like you can't draw the twins grown up anymore. You claimed they're 13, so better draw them 13 forever--. Aged up stories and works exist for a reason, especially for a fan who grew up on the series. The characters might have grown up alongside them. It's not unlikely for a person to ship Billdip when Dipper is much older.

And on that note, for people who are like 'well older billdip is fine-- it's just people shipping him during the show that deserve to die.' Okay... and like I said, this rant is coming from a recent influx of Billford shippers spitting on Billdip shippers. You know? The TOXIC Old Man Yaoi!

You're still shipping something that is problematic. You are still shipping something twisted and wrong. And I am not judging you. I am here for this divorced arc. I am thriving. But you can't just pick and choose what is and isn't okay. And let me first off explain; if there is something that personally triggers you about a toxic ship, and you want to avoid that-- again, perfectly understandable. Perfectly reasonable. You are the makers of your content space. And I am not judging anyone for that. I want people to be safe. I want people to have a good time in fandom spaces. I want people to not have to deal with the things that upset them or frighten them, or disgust them. But you can not say one is fine, and one is not. They're both bad! They're both toxic. In real life, these ships would both be charged with serious crimes! And yes, there are some crimes that are worse than others, and if you asked me what I thought was more problematic-- I'd say Billdip-- but both of these ships are extreme, and severe in their problematic content. You are still consuming problematic content. If it's a personal thing, that's fine; avoid it. But don't sit there throwing stones from your glass house.

[alltheirdamn]

Killing Me Softly | (Joel x teacher!f!reader)

Chap. 10 Home

Summary: How bittersweet it is to come home. Rating: 18+ Explicit Word Count: 8.6k Warnings: NONE!!!! Find out for yourselves xoxo A/N: If you made it this far, thank you. This obviously isn't the absolute END, there will be an epilogue to come... but I still want to thank each and every one of you. This series has such a special place inside my heart, and I will be forever grateful for the love and support you all have given. All the kisses and hugs and love to you all. (I also realize there are going to be a few questions left unanswered, but I promise it'll be resolved in the epilogue) * And once again, I'm the most thankful to @loonmartell for helping me create the most beautiful story. Sending you all my love, sweet pea <3 *

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

You most definitely had a concussion—which was not ideal when you were behind the wheel of a moving vehicle. Not only were you trying to subdue the memories still filtering through your mind, but you were also trying to navigate the roads with blurred vision. Streetlights that had once been unfamiliar slowly morphed into a memorized path, leading you right back to the place you once called home. Sarah had guided you home just months ago after a soccer game, but this was different. This was a reawakening, a thousand tiny moments rising from their endless slumber. Each turn of the wheel and stopsign guided you back to the one person your heart cried out for… Joel. 

If only your brain and heart could get on the same page. While your heart ached for Joel in ways you hadn’t felt in months, your mind still clung to the anger you associated with him over the last several months. You couldn’t just stop loving him, but you didn’t know how to stop hating him at the same time. 

The final turn into his neighborhood was coming up fast, yet your speed came to a crawl. It hadn’t even occurred to you that he could have moved on. Half a year was enough time for Joel to move on, to find another woman, to be happy without you. You experienced the exact opposite: you couldn’t move on, didn’t find another man, and were far from happy. Seeing him again was probably a mistake, but how would you move on now that you knew everything?

The nausea was back in full force as you pulled up to Joel’s home, his truck parked crooked in the driveway. This was your home once upon a time. Yeah, you were going to be sick again. Wrenching the door open, you leaned out of your car and dry-heaved. Nothing came up, which you were thankful for. You needed a strong stomach and a clear mind for whatever would come. The ground beneath your feet became distorted as you walked the path up his front yard. You took a moment to shake away the double-vision, your mind clouding around the edges. It was not the time to lose your grip on reality. 

The worn wood of Joel’s front door taunted you, your hand hovering over the center as you debated knocking. All it would take is a quick rap of your knuckles, and you’d see him again. Before you could sabotage yourself, your knuckles tapped against the door. 

“Comin’!” 

The sound of Joel’s voice in the distance electrified your nerves. He was right there. Any moment, he’d open the door and—.

The door cracked open, and you stared up into the familiar brown eyes that plagued every memory overlapping inside your mind. Joel stood motionless, his eyebrows slightly raised and lips parted. He looked at you as if you were a ghost. You gave him the most pathetic smile, unsure of what to do with your hands or body. 

“Can I come in?” You blurted out. 

“Of course,” he said softly, opening the door wider. 

A simple step over the threshold, and you were home. 

You took a moment to let it all settle in: nothing had changed. The varnish was worn in certain places on the floor, the same as it had been when you lived here. Joel walked the same path daily: through the front door and to the right, directly into the kitchen. Sarah’s soccer bag hung on the staircase railing, a pair of her shoes strewn across the second step. 

“Is Sarah home?” You asked, your eyes still wandering around the downstairs of the house.

“No, she’s stayin’ with a friend this weekend,” he replied.

Joel shifted his weight, tearing your focus away from the house and back onto him. There was a look of confusion furrowing his brows together, and you realized you hadn’t entirely explained yourself to him yet.

“Listen, I know I’m here unannounced,” you started. “I, uh, I haven’t touched the book since you gave it back. Well, I didn’t until today. I found it again, and this slipped out.”

Digging through your purse, you pinched the Polaroid between your fingers and pulled it free. Joel hesitantly reached for it, his fingers avoiding touching yours as he held it between his hands. A small smile formed on his lips as he ran his thumb over the photo's edges. 

“This was from a campin’ trip we went on with Sarah,” he sighed. “Sarah had just taken a tumble in some mud, and I remember I couldn’t stop laughin’, and you were quick with a camera and snapped this photo.”

“I know.”

“I got a photo of you, too. I still got it hangin’ up somewhere—.”

Joel’s voice trailed off, his eyes drifting up to yours. He had been so wrapped up in reminiscing that he didn’t listen to what you said. 

“Do you still have the one of Sarah, too?” 

Joel’s eyes grew wide, swaying in place. 

“You remember?” He faltered.

“I remember everything, Joel.”

Not Mr. Miller. Joel. 

Joel opened and closed his mouth at least three times before finally just shaking his head. He took a step back, letting the picture fall to the ground. You glanced down at the Polaroid lying between your feet, the photo of Joel doubling in your vision. Your body moved on its own accord, your balance teetering as you stumbled a bit to the side. Joel quickly caught your weight, his hands firm around your arm. 

“Woah,” he exhaled. “Y’okay?”

“I might have a concussion,” you laughed absently. “Took a bit of a fall earlier and hit my head.”

Joel cursed under his breath and slipped an arm around your waist, guiding you toward the dining room. Sunlight bled through the window shades on the wall, and you squinted your eyes to avoid intensifying your headache. The kitchen was just as you had remembered: cluttered and homey. Piles of dishes were laid in a drying rack by the sink, the dark countertops void of dirt aside from a few crumbs from toast or a residual ring of condensation from a beer bottle.

Joel helped you into one of the dining room chairs, moving swiftly to get you a glass of water. You weren’t sure if he meant to do it, but he had sat you in your chair at the table, the one you had always chosen during any family meal with him and Sarah. You smoothed your hands over the table, digging your nails into the groves of the woodwork.

“Here,” Joel said, extending a glass to you. 

You muttered a soft thank you, taking a drink as he took a seat beside you—his seat. The silence between you both was louder than the ringing in your ears, and you couldn’t stand it any longer. 

“Say something,” you pleaded.

Joel leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs as he peered up at you through glassy eyes. You knew that look: the exhaustion, the sadness. You had worn it well the last several months, and clearly, so did Joel. The person you were six months ago would have loved seeing Joel look so disheveled, but not now. Not when the past was hanging in the balance, finally uncovered and real. 

“Does Bennett know you’re here?” Joel asked, his eyes rising to yours. 

“What?” You gaped. Out of all the things Joel could have said, he chose that?

“Tommy saw y’all together,” he huffed. 

You wracked your brain, remembering when Tommy could have seen you and Bennett together. The only time you had seen Bennett was after the…. Oh. 

“He asked to meet me after everything happened,” you explained. “He wanted to share his side of things. You left out a lot, Joel. There was so much you didn’t tell me, and I had to rely on Bennett to piece the rest back together.”

“Are you datin’ him again? ‘Cause if you are, just tell me, and I’ll—I’ll find a way to move on and let you be happy. I ain’t gonna get in the way of your happiness, even if that means it’s with him.”

There was no way to ignore the bitterness in his words, yet you stifled a laugh. 

“After everything that’s happened, you actually think I'd go back to him?” You questioned. 

“Christ, I don’t know,” Joel sighed, running a hand over the back of his neck. 

“Bennett’s married,” you stated. “You must not have seen his wedding band when you were beating the shit out of him.”

Joel was harrowingly silent, his eyes trained on the work boots covering his feet. All you ached for was some sort of reaction—some kind of response—and he gave nothing. Your expectations had been set so high for this moment, yet nothing was going as you hoped. 

“I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest,” you said.

“Of course.” 

“Why didn’t you fight for me?” You whispered. “When everyone was making decisions for me, why didn’t you step in and fight back?”

“I tried,” he lamented. “Your family decided on everythin’, and I couldn’t step in.”

“Yes, you could have,” you pressed. 

You brushed your hand over the stumble on his jaw, lifting his face to meet yours. You saw it deep within the dark brown of his eyes: regret. 

“That’s not a good enough answer, Joel. No one fought for me,” you pressed. “I was alone in everything, and you should have been the one person standing up to them against everything they were choosing to do. You let Bennett come back into my life when you knew he had been horrible to me in the past. Why were you so willing to just let me go?”

Joel grabbed your free hand and brought it to his lips, pressing soft kisses into the center of your palm. It wasn’t till the first tear hit your fingers that you realized he was crying. Joel looked defeated, his face framed between one hand and your other pressed against his lips. Truly and utterly defeated. 

“I never wanted to let you go. Sayin’ that last goodbye to you while you were in the hospital was the hardest damn thing I’ve ever had to do, and I ain’t got no excuses for the choices I made. If I could go back and change everythin’, I would. I swear I would in a heartbeat. Losin’ you was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, and I know I coulda done more. You deserved more. You deserved better, and I shoulda been the one there for you. Not Bennett. I know I ruined everything. Fuck, I—I really fucked it all up.”

“I hate you for what you did,” you said, lifting your hand to brush away his tears. “I hate you so much for hurting me.”

Joel only nodded, more tears streaming down his cheeks as he closed his eyes. You ran your thumb over his cheekbone, tracing the line of his beard as it dipped down to his jaw. Joel released a shaky breath, leaning into your touch. 

“There ain’t enough words to describe how sorry I am,” he mumbled into your hand. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry for hurtin’you, and I’ve been livin’ with that guilt for years. I just wanted you to be happy. Even if it wasn’t with me.”

“I was happy, Joel. With you. I loved you so much. So many memories are still unraveling in my head, but in each of them, I know I loved you.”

“I’m so sorry,” he cried softly. 

“I hate you, Joel. I hate you, but I can’t ignore the fact that I still love you. I love the life we built together and the memories we made with Sarah. I miss this house, and I miss this kitchen where we’d make breakfast together. I miss waking up beside you every day. I miss staying up late with you and annoying you about the books I was reading.” You took a deep breath, trying to slow yourself down. “I miss you, Joel. I don’t know how long it will take me to forgive you, but I—I really miss you.”

A choked sob escaped from Joel’s mouth, and he leaned his head back, your hands falling into your lap. You didn’t know what to do with yourself other than try not to throw up—because your body was still trying to desperately fight off the nausea rolling inside your stomach. Confessing feelings while also battling a minor concussion had not been your brightest idea, but you had braved through worse before. 

So many moments of silence passed before Joel finally glanced back at you, his lips twitching as he held back another round of tears. 

“Y’have no fuckin’ idea how much I miss you,” he confessed. “I’ve waited so long for the moment you’d remember everythin’. I tried to imagine what I’d do when y’got those memories back, and… fuck. I’m so sorry for everythin’ I did.”

You took his hands in yours, interlocking your fingers around his. It was your turn to start crying, and you felt the tears fall against your fingers.

“What did you do?” You asked. “When you imagined me getting my memories back, what did you do?”

“I imagined kissin’ you and tellin’ you how much I loved you,” he said.

“What’s taking you so long?”

In one fluid motion, Joel sent his chair flying backward as he dropped to his knees before you. Reaching up, he cupped your face between his large hands, his mouth hovering over yours. You weren’t sure what he was waiting for, but you gave him a simple nod, and that was enough. 

The first kiss was delicate— cautionary. He wavered between losing control and reluctance, the path of his lips moving fluidly like they had always known their place against yours. It was so much different than the first kiss months ago, where then it had been about discovery and excitement, each draw of your bodies together new and profound. But now, it was a kiss to rekindle a flame that had dwindled out, a resurgence of emotions neither of you had experienced in years. Yes, those few months together had been exhilarating, but you had barely scratched the surface of where the bounds of your love lay.

You were the first to cave into the chaos, deepening the kiss until Joel’s movements determined your breathing. When his head moved, so did yours. When his tongue overlapped yours, you repeated the motion. Over and over until you lost the ability to identify where you started and he ended. 

“Joel,” you panted, his lips still crushed against yours.

“Hmm?”

He was too enamored with you to respond coherently. You raked your nails over his scalp, refamiliarizing yourself with the softness of his curls. Joel groaned into your open mouth, his tongue dancing with yours once more.

“Joel,” you muttered again. 

“Yeah, baby?” He exhaled, finally breaking away from your swollen lips. 

You pressed your forehead against his, your eyelashes fluttering up at him. Joel looked down at you with blown pupils, the brown color in his eyes nearly black as he waited for your response.

“I think you forgot to say something,” you whispered, laughing softly. 

“Don’t think I forgot at all, baby. Just wanted to savor you a minute,” Joel grinned. “I love you. God, I love you so fuckin’ much. Ain’t ever gonna stop tellin’ you how much I love you.”

“I still don’t forgive you for everything,” you reminded him. “It’ll take me some time to heal from all of this fully.”

Joel brushed his nose against yours, his lips tugging upward.

“I got all the time in the world, baby. Gonna spend every damn day provin’ myself to you. I’m already on my knees for you. Anythin’ you ask of me, I’ll give it to you.”

Breathless. You were breathless. This was the man you should have spent your life with, the man you should have married. Joel saw his faults, admitted them, and submitted himself to you out of love and dedication. Anger was still to be had, but it could wait. 

“Anything?” You echoed.

He trailed his fingers up your bare legs, his hands teasing their way higher. You mindlessly decided on a dress earlier and thanked yourself for it. A shiver ran over your skin as he pushed the hem of the dress further up, his head bending down to kiss a path over your knee and up your thigh. 

“God, I missed you so damn much, baby,” Joel groaned, his tongue gliding over your pebbled skin.

“Show me how much you missed me.”

Joel lay his head in your lap, his puppy dog eyes staring up at you with a glimmer of desire. You knew that look; you had seen it so many times before in his eyes. Too many memories had taken their place in your mind to ever let you forget the way Joel looked at you when he wanted you. 

“Can I?” He asked, brushing his hand between your thighs.

Your body responded easily to his touch, a familiarity you once knew. The friction of your underwear against your clit was growing uncomfortable as it throbbed at the vibration of his voice. Like a moth to a flame, you were drawn to Joel in more ways than one. You craved to be touched, to be pulled apart and put back together in the ways only he knew. 

Joel tugged your ass down to the edge of the chair, flicking the hem of your dress into your lap. You tried working your fingers over the band of your underwear, but Joel beat you to it with a swiftness that left you dizzy. Well, dizzier than you already were. 

Joel hoisted your calves over his shoulders, settling himself between your thighs. Flashes of memories in this exact position came flooding in; this was familiar. Familiarity beyond compare and something you desperately yearned for. 

“Please,” you whined.

He wasted no time giving in to your plea. Joel licked a thick stripe up your slick entrance, rewarding himself with a soft moan leaving your lips. You unknowingly lied months ago when you said no one had tasted you like this… Joel had. He thrived on giving you pleasure like this, doing this countless times before. He knew your body better than anyone else, and your body cried out for him in ways you could not control. 

He devoured you like he sought to destroy the years of distance that had passed between you. Every flick of his tongue against the apex of your sex, every gravelly moan from his throat—it all revolved around that undeniable truth that you both were meant to be together. That’s how it should have always been. 

“More,” you begged.

Words failed you, yet Joel knew what you needed. His tongue plunged inside of you, curling ever so slightly. The pleasure inside you burned slowly, igniting a warmth through your veins. You throbbed against his mouth, his breath hot on your skin as he latched onto your clit. You arched against him, your hand snaking down to latch onto the hair on his scalp. Joel let out a prideful moan, working his tongue faster against your aching bud. 

“There… right there…” You whimpered.

Joel gave the softest nod as if to say I know, driving you closer to the edge. A hitch of your breath, another flick of his tongue, repeated motions back and forth until your orgasm was crashing against the surface. You cried out, tears springing from your eyes as you succumbed to the climax wracking through your limbs. Joel pulled away, his mouth and mustache glistening from your release. 

Lowering your legs off his shoulders, Joel wordlessly hooked an arm around your waist and hauled you onto the dining table, the wood creaking under the weight. You pawed at his shirt, and Joel obliged your silent request as he yanked it over his head. You lifted yourself on your forearms, drinking in the sight of his bare chest. You glanced up at Joel to catch him smirking, amused by your silence.

“Y’can’t be lookin’ at me like that, baby,” Joel groaned, stepping between your open legs. “Not when I got you spread out and ready for me.”

“I can look at you however I want,” you smiled. 

Joel leaned down to meet your lips, dragging you in for a long kiss. 

“I missed you so fuckin’ much,” he chuckled.

His lips worked their way down your neck, sucking marks into your skin, while his hands worked quickly at the belt around his waist. Hooking one leg around his waist, you drew him closer, your breath hitching as he lined himself up with your entrance. 

Joel drove himself deep inside you in one thrust, the tip of his cock spearing into you. You gasped as his cock filled you with its entirety, your body stretched passed comfortability. You forgot how much you loved feeling him everywhere. With his cock fully seated inside you, Joel leaned forward and pressed his forehead against yours.

“I need to hear y’say it, baby,” he begged. “Please tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, Joel,” you exhaled. “I love you.”

That’s all he needed to hear—a simple admission, a coupling of words that rewrote the story lost between the both of you. You spent months trying to deny your love for him, but there was no way to deny this connection. There was always an invisible string connecting you both, and though the string had frayed and unraveled, this moment snapped it back into place. 

“I love you,” Joel said. “Ain’t ever lettin’ you go.”

He pulled out slowly, only to snap his hips forward and render you speechless. You reached up to hold him against you, your nails digging crescent-shaped marks into his shoulder blades. Thrust after thrust, Joel drilled into you forcefully—brutally. You cried out every time his body slapped against yours, and your vision started to blur around the edges. Your core clenched around him, your thighs slick from your arousal that dripped between your bodies. 

“Takin’ my cock so well, baby,” Joel praised. “Doin’ so good for me.”

“Yes… yes…” You chanted the word between every thrust that he assaulted you with, every caress of his fingers around your waist, another revelation of how perfect you were together. 

“My perfect—fuck—perfect girl,” he gritted out.

Joel locked an arm around your back and lifted you from the table, spinning you both until your back hit the wall across from the table. The impact was enough to knock the air from your lungs and dizzy your mind, but he gave you no opportunity to recover before he was driving upwards into you, the new angle sending sparks of pleasure through your muscles. With one arm braced around your body and a hand pressed against the wall beside your head, Joel ground into you deeper…slower… your body begging for release. He could sense it, too, the way your thighs tightened around his waist and your cheeks dampened with tears.

“Yeah, I can feel it, baby,” Joel crooned. “I know you’re close. Gonna cum for me? Gonna give me what I want?”

“Please,” you cried, nodding vigorously.

Joel crushed his lips against yours, and you sobbed into his open mouth. Your body sized around him as your orgasm tore through you, stronger than the first. His thrusts stalled as your core pulsed through the aftershocks, the room spinning quicker every time another wave of release rocked through your stomach.

“That’s it, baby. That’s my good girl. Give me everythin’. I got you. Keep goin’.”

It was disastrous how obedient your body was to his commands. You entangled yourself in him, your tongue rolling over his tongue to silence his muffled words. Joel wasn’t far behind you, and soon enough, he punched out your name through clenched teeth, spilling himself into you. 

You rested your head back against the wall, his body sagging into yours as you both fought for air. The slow drip of his cum down your inner thigh and the sweat clinging to your brow was the only sensation you could feel as time passed in comfortable silence. 

“I love you, baby,” Joel groaned, his head falling onto your shoulder.

You carded a hand through his hair, leaning your cheek against his sweat-dampened curls. Right there, in Joel’s arms, everything made sense. The anger inside you could dissolve away—at least for a little while—and you could remind yourself that this was what love felt like. To be held. To be seen. To be cherished. 

Faint sounds of sniffling traveled past the rush of blood pumping in your ears, and you tugged at his curls to pull his head off your shoulder. Joel looked up at you through blurry eyes, his thick lashes coated in fresh tears. 

“It’s okay,” you hushed. 

“It’s not, though,” he argued. “I shoulda came back sooner. I shouldn’t have waited. There’s so much time we can’t get back, baby. S’all my fault.”

“We’ve got time,” you said softly. “I don’t want to be anywhere but here with you, Joel.”

“Promise?” He asked. 

“I promise.”

The evening grew late, and both you and Joel had settled into bed. It surprised you when you cried at seeing his room again, realizing nothing about it had changed. The fan was still humming softly in the corner as it always had, the soft breeze floating over the bedsheets as you climbed under the covers. Miscellaneous items were scattered on his dresser, and worn clothes littered the floor beside his hamper. Joel mumbled a slew of apologies at the sight of the mess, but it only made you cry harder. You didn’t care if it was messy. You only cared that you were finally home. Even without the memories resurfacing, your house never felt this way. It had never been a home because Joel wasn’t there to make it a home.

“How’re y’feelin’, baby?” Joel asked, his hand drawing circles into your back as you leaned against his naked body. 

“Like I could spend the rest of the night throwing up,” you said, half-jokingly. 

Your headache was splintering into a full-blown migraine, and your body had yet to recover from the fall earlier in the day. You had no regrets about being fucked against the wall, but it definitely proved to have done some damage to your fragile state.

“If I had known y’needed a good hit to the head to get all these memories back, I woulda tripped you myself,” Joel teased.

You attempted to laugh, only to have the nausea rising in your throat silence your efforts. 

“Don’t make me laugh right now,” you groaned, curling yourself tighter around his body.

“S’only kiddin’, baby. I’m just way too damn happy to have you in my arms again. I spent the last few months tryna figure out how I’d go on livin’ without you.”

“It wasn’t easy for me either,” you sighed. “I hardly recognize myself most days.”

“I won’t lie, seein’ you at parent-teacher conferences nearly broke me,” Joel admitted. 

“It broke me, too.”

Silence slipped over you, and the fan turned into the only noise inside the bedroom. Joel’s chest rose and fell softly under your head, his heart pounding echoing through your ear as you pressed yourself further into his embrace. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally spoke. “I wish I had a better word to describe how sorry I am. It wasn’t right of me to lie to you, and I shouldn’t have ever let your family make that decision.”

“I haven’t talked to them in months,” you muttered. “I don’t know how to forgive them for what they did.”

“Y’don’t need to forgive them until you’re ready. I just hope y’know they love you, baby.”

“I do know they love me, and that’s why it’s so hard. How can they love me yet still hurt me so much?”

Joel pressed a soft kiss against the crown of your head, his fingers squeezing around your shoulder.

“I don’t want to be angry anymore,” you said, your voice cracking. “But I don’t know how to feel anything but anger towards them. Especially toward Beth. The things she’s said to me in the past…How do I forgive her?”

“I ain’t gonna take sides,” he cautioned. “But I think the accident affected her the hardest. She was so angry at your family's plan, and I think she took out a lot of that anger on you when y’didn’t deserve it.”

“It’s not fair,” you cried. “It’s not fair that she gets to be angry when she wasn’t the one that lost everything.”

“You were her everythin’, baby,” Joel whispered. “She lost you.”

“You’re taking her side,” you grumbled.

“I’m just tryna show you the other side of things,” Joel offered. 

“I know you are.”

Joel sunk further into the pillows, dragging you down beside him. You nestled into his arms, your limbs twisting around him like they had a hundred times before. It’s odd what your body remembers, but your brain forgets; it is a simple gesture of an embrace that can never be entirely forgotten. You understood why things always felt so right when you met him again last year; your soul knew he was the missing piece that had been lost. 

Joel spoke your name softly, the syllables more beautiful than ever when they rolled through his accent. You hummed in response, gazing up at him through tired eyes.

“I woulda waited an eternity for you, baby,” he confessed. “I woulda gone to my grave waitin’ to have you back in my arms like this again.”

You blinked away the tears welling in your eyes, failing miserably to hide the quiver of your lips. Joel didn’t wait for your response, nor could you verbalize anything to match the poetry of his words. You only nodded and said, " I love you, " before your eyes drifted shut. Home. You were home.

Joel was softly snoring when you woke up. In the quiet light of the morning, you took the time to admire every softened feature of his face. The worried creases between his brows had smoothed overnight, yet you still found yourself brushing a finger over the spot they usually were. Brushing your hand down his face, you traced the outline of his lips, slightly parted and pouty, the soft kiss more kissable now than ever. Kissing him could wait; you wanted to savor this moment. 

You drew a path down his neck and chest, the spattering of hair across his torso tickling your fingertips. Joel stirred above you, his head rolling to the other side of the pillow. His eyes never opened, though, and you took the opportunity to crawl under the sheets. 

Joel’s cock lay heavy against his lower abdomen, precum leaking onto the soft skin of his stomach. You ran your hands over his hips, settling yourself lower until you were comfortable between his legs. His cock twitched as you wrapped a hand around his length, stroking him slowly and deliberately. Leaning your head down, you kissed up the shaft of his cock, dragging your tongue up the length and around the head. Joel’s body tensed up, yet he still didn’t wake. You took him into your mouth, the salty taste and musky scent overwhelming your senses. You hadn’t pleasured him like this in so long, and you had forgotten how much you loved it. 

Taking him deeper, you flattened your tongue, teasing the base of his cock with the tip of your tongue. You faintly heard a moan slip from Joel’s mouth, his cock twitching against your tongue. 

“Baby?” He groaned.

You hummed softly, pulling him from your mouth. With your saliva coating the entirety of his cock, you pumped him quicker, feeling his body seize up under your touch. 

“Fuck,” he grunted, bucking his hips upward. 

You rewarded him with another swirl of your tongue over the head of his cock, your mouth and hand working in tandem. He was close; you could feel it. 

“Just like that, baby. Forgot—fuck—forgot how good your mouth feels.”

You took him deeper, the tip of his cock tapping against the back of your throat. You sputtered around him, drool rolling down the corners of your mouth, yet you didn’t stop. Hollowing your cheeks, you heard Joel choke out a gasp. The warmth of his release flooded your mouth, coating the back of your throat and tongue. You drank down every drop, pulling off of him with a soft pop.

“Jesus Christ,” he sighed, slumping into the pillows. “Get your ass up here, baby.”

You crawled over his body, your legs straddling his waist. Joel grinned up at you, his tired eyes still barely open as he drank in your naked body. 

“C’mere,” he yawned, reaching up to grab the back of your neck.

His soft lips met yours, and you molded your body to him, letting him guide your mouth however he pleased. There was still a pang of anger tucked into the darkest corner of your heart, but you knew with time, it might fade away, and all you wanted was to bask in Joel’s love as long as possible. Things would take time, but you were willing to work on it. 

“I missed wakin’ up to you,” Joel muttered, his lips working down your jaw.

You could feel him growing hard against your core as you ground your hips down on him. It was impossible to hide the fact you were slick with arousal between your thighs, your body terribly responsive to every touch he placed on your body.

“You’re drenchin’ me, baby,” he groaned. “Need to feel your pussy now.”

“I’m all yours.”

“Damn fuckin’ right you are.”

You lifted your hips, notching his cock at your entrance. Inch by inch, you sunk onto him, both of you exhaling a shaky moan as he stretched you open. Leaning forward, you laced your fingers through Joel’s, holding him firm in your grasp. All you ached for was the tenderness he could provide, the slow synchronicity that flowed through his body and into yours. 

A gentle rub of his thumb over the back of your hand, the slow rise and fall of your hips against his cock… it was the lazy movements that spoke louder than words. It was the recognition that you were his just as he was yours. Soft moans fell off your lips as Joel guided you against his cock, little reassuring grunts leaving his mouth with each roll of your body.

“S’fuckin’ beautiful, baby,” Joel exhaled.

The sun seeping through the blinds lit the amber flecks around his pupils, the morning light painting his naked body golden. The veins beneath his thick neck strained as he lifted his head to watch you, his lips parted in awe as you sucked him further inside your slicken sex. 

“Touch yourself, baby,” he demanded. “Let me feel you fall apart around me.”

Your fingers slipped away from his hand, brushing down his flexed stomach as you made a path to your throbbing clit. The feather-like touch immediately sparked pleasure through your core. You clenched around his cock, whimpering with each circle of your fingertips. 

“I feel it, baby. I know you’re close.”

“Mhmm,” you whined.

Joel raised his body to press into your chest, one hand cradling your heavy breast, the other kneading the flesh of your ass. With his weight against your body, your hand pressed harder against your clit, the arousal pooling between where your bodies connect. 

Your head fell onto his shoulder, teeth sinking into his sweat-covered skin. Joel groaned at the sensation, only grounding you down harder onto his cock. You needed every atom of your being injected with Joel; every one of your senses evaded with his taste, touch, and scent. 

“Joel,” you mumbled, nestling your face into the crook of his neck. “I’m so close… so close.”

“I got you, baby. Gonna fall apart right here with you.”

He barely finished speaking by the time your orgasm ignited in your stomach, your body shuddering within his embrace. Joel spoke your name in broken syllables, his release pouring into you only moments later. 

Neither of you broke apart once your spasms subsided. Joel tangled a hand into the hair resting at the nape of your neck, urging your lips to his. Slotting your mouth over his, you slipped your tongue over his bottom lip, a starved search for a deeper connection. Joel fulfilled your need, devouring the soft sounds you exhaled.

Slowly—reluctantly—you tore from his lips, gasping for air to fill your lungs. Joel’s swollen lips formed into a crooked smile, his brown eyes softening the longer he gazed at you. Somewhere inside your chest, you felt that pain reawaken, a haunting reminder that you could have had this all along. Had the lies never been told… Joel would have always been yours. 

How did he survive the years of pain? How did he allow himself to let you go, knowing you’d never be satisfied with another?

A tear slipped down your cheek, and you turned your head to hide the emotions cresting over your face. Nothing went unnoticed with Joel, and he gently pinched your chin to bring your eyes back to his. With furrowed brows, Joel studied your features, the realization striking home for him, too.

“I know you’re scared, baby,” he whispered. “And I know there’s a lot I gotta fix between us, but I swear to you that I ain’t ever gonna leave again. I made that mistake once, and I’ll never do it again.”

“I want to trust you, Joel. I’m trying. But I don’t know how to forget what you’ve done… what everyone has done. There’s so much pain inside me. It’s unbearable.” 

Joel cradled your face in his hands, leveling you with a gaze you couldn’t discern. So many emotions swirled within his eyes, an endless expanse of grief that weighed him down. 

“Give me your pain. Give me all your anger and everything inside you, and I swear I’ll keep you safe. Y’ain’t ever gonna be alone again. Not while I’m still breathin’, baby. It’s you and me. Forever.”

“Forever,” you echoed. 

“Yes, forever. I don’t want another moment of my life without you in it. I can’t lose you again.”

“I can’t lose you, either,” you cried. “I never wanted to lose you in the first place, so please don’t leave.”

Joel’s eyes clouded with tears, and he shook his head. 

“I love you too much ever to leave you,” he said, his voice cracking. “I’m keepin’ you so long as y’let me.”

Eventually, you both made it out of the bed. Joel grumbled at your wishes to leave, keeping you in his arms and peppering your skin with kisses. It wasn’t long before your dizziness set back in, and you were demanding water and painkillers. 

As Joel poured you a glass of water, you found yourself swaying against the cold tile floors of the kitchen, the corners of your vision blurring. Your nails scratched at the kitchen countertop as you tried to suppress the lightheaded feeling creeping in. You just needed to sit…that’s all you needed. 

You called out Joel’s name the moment your knees buckled beneath you. His body moved in a foggy haze as you tried to keep consciousness, yet you were being pulled beneath the surface of your headache. Strong hands tucked themselves under your armpits, and Joel lowered you to the ground. 

“Baby?” His voice was frantic—strained. 

You mumbled a few incoherent words as your body sagged into his arms. Christ, your head ached. You hadn’t experienced a fainting spell since the accident, and you forgot how terrifying it was. 

Joel choked out your name, his hand snaking around your jaw to wag your head back and forth. You could see his silhouette over you, the shadow molding into the spots within your field of vision, but nothing else registered. Slipping. Drowning. You weren’t strong enough to fight it. Fear set your nerves alight; what if you lost it all again? What if everything melted away into the darkness consuming you? You clawed tooth and nail as your body plunged deeper into unconsciousness. 

It was no use. 

**

Joel paced the hallway outside your hospital room like a madman. The moment you went limp in his arms, he knew something was wrong. He should have taken your injury more seriously and urged you to the hospital yesterday. But he had you in his arms again, and the world would have had to fall apart before he even considered letting you go. Every admission from your lips weighed down on Joel’s shoulders, another swell of guilt growing inside him. He anticipated your anger, your grief, your heartbreak; he willingly listened without argument. His own struggles were nothing compared to what you endured, and he’d be damned if you ever felt those emotions again. Chewing at his nails, Joel glanced back at the open blinds of your hospital room. The doctors assured him you’d be okay; it was only a concussion, and there’d be no complications. That wasn’t enough for him. He needed to be absolutely sure you’d recover. 

The door cracked open, and Joel rushed toward the neurologist leaving your room. 

“How is she, doc?” Joel asked. “She’s gonna be okay, right?”

The neurologist, Dr. Oliver, nodded with a soft smile. The smile alone settled the rapid heartbeat banging against Joel's ribcage. 

“Miss Smith is going to be just fine,” Dr. Oliver reassured. “There’s going to be a long road to recovery, but I don’t see any long-term effects. I suggest you bring her in for check-ins with me every few months just to monitor her progress.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course,” Joel nodded. 

“What I need you to do, Mr. Miller, is to help her. She may be a bit forgetful occasionally, so leaving lists around the house or notes will help keep her on track. You do live together, I assume?”

Joel rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous tick he had yet to learn how to shake. 

“We don’t, but if y’recommend it…”

“I recommend it, but only because she’ll need someone looking over for her. At least, until she regains enough cognitive strength to keep her memory at full capacity,” Dr. Oliver explained. 

“I can do that, Doc. All I want is for her to be okay.”

Dr. Oliver clapped a hand on Joel’s shoulder, his lips curving into a grin. Joel could finally breathe; you’d be okay. 

“You’re a good man, Mr. Miller. She’s lucky to have you here to care for her.”

“Thank you, Doc.”

“Give her some time to rest, and she’ll be clear to go home tomorrow.”

Dr. Oliver said his goodbyes to Joel and bounded down the hallway to other patients. Joel glanced at the open door, your sleeping frame tucked into the bed among the cords and beeping monitors. He entered quietly, his footsteps soft against the floor so he wouldn’t wake you. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Joel took your hand in his, cautious to avoid the IV tube taped onto your skin. Smoothing lines over the inside of your wrist, Joel watched you with weary eyes. 

“I love you, baby. I’m gonna be right here when y’wake up,” he vowed. “Like it always shoulda been.”

Leaning over your body, Joel pressed his lips against your forehead, inhaling your sweet scent as he pulled away. 

You’d be okay, and you’d forever be his. 

**

The harsh light above you reflected behind your eyelids. You groaned as you stirred awake, your eyes squinting to adjust to the layers of white surrounding you. Curling your fingers into the scratchy blanket, you found a familiar body sagged into a chair beside the bed. Joel slept peacefully, yet the worry lines creased between his brows. Extending your hand over the edge of the bed, you brushed your palm over his knee. 

“Joel,” you whispered. 

His body jolted upright as he scrubbed a hand down his face. Big, brown puppy dog eyes met yours, the concern in his face dissolving away once his eyes settled on yours. He made no effort to contain the smile breaking across his face. 

“Hey, handsome,” you croaked. 

“Baby,” Joel sighed, crouching beside the bed. “How’re y’feelin’?”

“A little fatigued, but I think I’ll live.”

“You better,” he chuckled. 

With your arms outstretched, you ushered Joel into an embrace. Joel’s lips crashed against yours the second he wrapped his arms around you, his touch soft and cautious. Beautiful melancholy emotions wracked your body; this was the moment you ached for from the start. To be held in your vulnerability, to be cherished, to be loved. Joel didn’t leave. He’d always be here, now. 

“There’s someone here to see you, baby,” Joel muttered against your mouth. 

You pulled away, confusion scrunching your eyebrows together. God, don’t let it be your family. 

“I know that look. Don’t worry, baby, I’ll be right back. I promise you’ll be happy,” Joel reassured. 

Joel disappeared from the room, and you sat up, settling back into the pillows. You glanced at the monitor beeping beside your bed, the steady line of your heart rate cruising along the screen. Footsteps sounded outside your room, and your eyes flicked back toward the door, a small silhouette hiding behind Joel’s large frame. 

Sarah. 

Her bright eyes looked between you and Joel, her stare quizzical–skeptic. You gave her a small wave, ushering her into the room. 

“Hi, Sarah,” you faltered. The tears were already forming on your waterline. 

“Hi, Miss Smith,” she said wearily. 

You patted the bed, scooting over to make room for her. Her steps were slow as she neared the bedside, her eyes glancing back at Joel. He gave her an encouraging nod, a knowing grin on his lips. 

“You don’t have to call me that,” you laughed softly. 

Sarah settled onto the bed, her tennis shoes swinging over the floor as she fidgeted with her curls. Joel leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest and a smile glued to his face. 

“But you’re my teacher,” she muttered. 

You tucked a loose strand behind her ear, the same hair you had braided and brushed years ago. She wasn’t yours, not by birth. But she was yours just as much as Joel was; she was your home. They weren’t just photos captured in time; they were real. They were real, and they were yours. 

“Do you remember when I used to read you bedtime stories?” You wondered aloud. “You would always ask for the same one over and over.”

There it was. The light sparkled in the gold flecks of Sarah’s eyes, the same gold that sat deep within Joel’s. 

“You and Dad would read The Kissing Hand every night,” she nodded. 

“I know you’re a lot older now, but do you remember what we would do before you fell asleep?”

You reached for Sarah’s hand, lifting it to your lips. With a soft kiss on her palm, you guided her hand to her cheek. Sarah’s eyes filled with tears as she leaned into your touch, the simple caress of your hand against her face enough to bring you both to the brink of crying. 

“I missed you, kiddo,” you cried softly. 

Sarah threw her arms around your neck, muffling her sobs into your hospital gown as you squeezed your arms tighter around her body. You missed so many milestones and moments of her life because of the accident, so many memories that were never made. Every family meal, every soccer game…you lost them all. 

You lifted your eyes, catching the moment Joel swiped away a tear from his cheek. Beckoning him over with a quick motion of your hand, he crossed the room in two quick strides and wrapped his large arms around you and Sarah. You rested your chin on Sarah’s shoulder, hugging her closer. Joel kissed the crown of Sarah’s head, then placed one on your forehead. 

“Wait,” Sarah blurted out, forcing you all to break apart. 

“What is it, sweetheart?” Joel asked, craning his head to look at her. 

“Does that mean you’re coming back home?” She asked. 

You looked at Joel for guidance, trying to find the answers within his gentle gaze. He waited in silence, giving you room to decide. There wasn’t a shadow of a doubt about your answer, not when you had everything you needed right here. 

“Only if you promise never to make pancakes again,” you smiled, pinching her cheek. 

She buried herself into your arms again, her head resting against your heart. You looked up at Joel, your mouth forming three little words. 

I love you. 

~ Two weeks later ~

Joel refused any help as he unloaded the last of your boxes from the back of his truck. When you got home from the hospital, you patched up the holes in the wall—with Joel’s help, of course—and got the house ready to sell. It barely lasted a week on the market before the offers came in, making it easy to start packing. That house was filled with memories you didn’t want to remember, memories that you no longer wanted to revisit. It wasn’t home to you anymore. 

You and Sarah sat on the front porch, popsicles in hand, watching as he huffed an exasperated breath once the box hit the steps. Joel straightened out, running sweaty hands down the sides of his jeans, glancing back at the empty truck bed. 

“Well, I think that’s the last of it,” Joel sighed. “Y’sure we ain’t miss anythin’?”

“I think I’ve got all I need right here,” you grinned, nudging Sarah with your shoulder. 

Joel plopped beside you on the porch, leaning over to lick up the sticky residue of the popsicle that had fallen down your arm. You gave him a warning look, shifting your eyes toward Sarah as if to say: Behave. He only shrugged, sticking out his tongue again to tickle your skin. 

“You hungry?” He asked, quirking a brow. 

“Starving!” Sarah declared, rising to her feet. 

You laughed, knowing Joel wasn’t asking her. Nonetheless, you and Joel followed her into the house hand in hand. Over the last couple of weeks, he had decorated the house in countless sticky notes: ones in the bathroom, the bedroom, the kitchen. Each said something important. The one in the bathroom was stuck on the medicine cabinet, reminding you which toothbrush was yours—the purple one. Joel stuck one by the front door with Sarah’s soccer schedule—snack duty included. There were a few scattered around the kitchen: one telling you where to find the coffee mugs, another one with a list of groceries to buy over the weekend. Three photos hung beside the list, sitting in perfect harmony as they always should have been.  But your favorite was stuck to the cover of Romeo and Juliet, Joel’s messy handwriting scribbled across the yellow paper. It was only a few words but the only reminder you needed. 

Welcome home, baby. 

I love you.

[headspace-hotel]

Dwarf fortress update: world #2

This is going much better since now I know what I'm doing with administrating tasks. My population is at 75 and dwarves mostly happy (or at least neutral) now that i have the food and alcohol running more or less automatically

My strategy for keeping the dwarves happy is basically to just browse through their thoughts and figure out what they would like to have/do.

A lot of them get unhappy when "remembering trauma." Too bad "therapist" isn't one of the workshops.

I have literally thousands of raw mussels. I haven't seen a body of water nearby except for "murky pool". Where are they coming from??

If you make stepladders, the dwarves use them to pick fruit off the trees! I have a tropical biome this time so there is a huge abundance of fruit.

I have a yak herd going and I just kill most of the bulls periodically for fresh meat.

My dwarf children keep getting kidnapped????

The stockpile system is fucking CURSED.

The amount of feeding stockpiles into other stockpiles I have to do in order to get a smelter running let alone forge weapons? Horrible

I was using bins to make items stack, and my weapons stockpile had a bin in it.

After about 3 in-game years had passed, for some reason mining and tree chopping orders just...stopped working. Like the tiles would just stay highlighted for eternity.

This persisted for like. 2 more years in game. I figured out quickly that part of the problem was that all of the axes and pickaxes were gone. I had no idea why. I tried all manner of convoluted looney tunes bullshit to try to make new ones without any wood for charcoal and without the ability to mine anything else. I demolished the wagon for wood, but my dumb ass forgot about the work orders I had set and the wood was immediately converted into doors. So next I demolished all the carpenter shops. It was not enough wood.

Eventually I ended up just buying a bunch of wood from the trading caravan and after a protracted battle with my interrelated network of stockpiles, smelted iron bars. Then set the metalsmith to make axes and picks.

The work orders ran just fine. The mining and chopping still wasn't working. I went to my stocks and tracked the location of the new weapons and was led to a wooden bin in the weapons stockpile.

How. do you REMOVE. WEAPONS. FROM THE BIN

For around half an hour I experimented with stockpiles, attempting to force the bin to disgorge its contents. I made and destroyed many different stockpiles with different settings. When the weapons bin was forced into a stockpile that didn't accept bins, it didn't release its contents, instead it became invisible and somehow stacked underneath a different item in the stockpile.

Finally, I figured out the workaround: I made a garbage dump, went into the contents of the bin and marked each individual weapon within as garbage. I'm pretty sure I marked the bin itself as "forbidden?" Anyway after the whole thing was in the garbage, I un-garbaged the weapons one by one, made another weapons stockpile that didn't accept bins, and after fucking with it for a while I liberated the weapons from the Bin of No Return (which stayed forbidden and in the garbage)

At some point in the process all the weapons ended up forbidden and somehow stacked together in one tile. I had to manually unforbidden all of them and destroy and remake stockpiles and garbage dumps several times.

Mining and chopping orders STILL AREN'T WORKING

I try manually equipping pickaxes and axes to dwarves under the "squads" tab. No dice.

Finally. FINALLY. I go into the dwarves' jobs and set it so the miners can ONLY mine EXCLUSIVELY and set some dwarves to be locked into wood cutting as well. This, on top of everything else, fixes the problem.

Don't use bins. Got it.

A cyclops randomly attacked my fortress. I hadn't trained my military or anything so I was worried it would do a lot of damage, but my dwarves killed it pretty much instantly

I saw under the "engrave memorial slab" tab that there was an option to engrave a memorial slab to the cyclops. Which I did, just in case.

I found an underground cavern. Since I found the underground cavern I have been getting "petitions" every 5 minutes with adventurers volunteering to come kill monsters. I have like 12 of them in my fortress now.

Also a bunch of mushrooms are growing up into the areas of my fortress with dirt floors, and several of them can be farmed as underground crops??? I have a room in my fortress that grows "cave wheat" now

i'm guessing the next step is to train my military but idk where to start with that